


The Huntsman

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A little angst, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Finn (Star Wars), BAMF Poe Dameron, Badass Battle Ladies, Battle, Battle Couple, Canonical Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Horseback Riding, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Immortality, Inspired by Music, M/M, Made For Each Other, Magic, Magic Healing, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Blood, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pining, Plotty, Protective Finn (Star Wars), Protective Poe Dameron, Reincarnation, Schmoop, Semi-original Lore, Shapeshifting, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, Swordplay as Flirting, Teasing, Tenderness, Trope bait, Unless severely injured (we're playing by tolkien rules here), but not super gross, death imagery, for its length anyway, i like lore ok, kind of a weird vibe, some anyway, some banter, yeaaaaah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Adapted from finnpoe-wizard's tumblr prompt: Finn is some sort of ethereal forest being and Poe is the villager who discovers him.--“Well, I mean. Considering my people have been going missing in these woods and that I just saved your ass, I’d say you’re not doin’ much of anything.”Finn reels back like he’s been slapped. Hurt is plain on his face for a second or two, then he pulls a mask over it. Still he stares, mouth pressed in an unhappy, frustrated line. His eyes spark. Some of that gold color starts to creep back in and Poe swallows. It’s just then that he remembers he’s not talking to a man. Not a real one, anyway. He’s talking to the Huntsman. Who, according to legend, was a warrior, and not one to be taken lightly. Maybe he could’ve phrased that better.Complete! And with art by the wonderful agrippaspoleto
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 142
Kudos: 84





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of based in some european lore  
> self-edited per ushe, hopefully nothing's too glaring

_In winter, the Huntsman turns vengeful, and walks as death._

_If you venture into the woods in winter, children, you might see him there. His clothes are made of leather, an enormous bear pelt adorns his shoulders, shed of his spring form. He walks like a man, skin as dark as shadow, eyes glowing in the gloom. You may feel something on a cold breeze, something to tempt you away from home at night. If you follow it, he’ll steal you away to ride! You mustn’t follow him—the Huntsman’s curse will pass to you. You’ll have to turn the seasons, too, toiling endlessly in the woods. Ride the Wild Hunt ever after._

_When dawn comes, we know the Huntsman has won. Spring will return again._

_Thank the Huntsman for his fight, but stay away from the forest tonight._

—

He senses something the minute the village comes into view. Their tired cavalcade is drawing to a close. The spirits following him are beginning to disperse, trudging their way back to their headstones in the valley, the Kyrja leading them down. Many wave goodbye in his direction. Luke clasps his hand with a nod before Summer leads him back to the graveyard. Spring walks with Han and Fall is herding a few more down the mountain slope. If he weren’t watching them go, making sure they return, he might not have even noticed the feeling. Now that he has, it’s taken his full attention. It’s warm, familiar—he hasn’t felt anything like it in so long, it’s pulling him from the darkened forest trail.

“What’re you doing?” Summer calls after him.

Spring and Fall exchange glances. He waves a hand back at them but doesn’t answer. Her worry follows after him like a lost dog but she’ll head back soon enough. They all will. The sun’s rising, the battle’s over for now. Springtime’s blooming energy is pulling at his blood. It’s time to rest, even for the Kyrja. He can’t just yet, though.

Before he even realizes it, his feet are carrying him on. With one hand, he hefts the lantern aloft. The light dapples the trees around him, swaying as limbs sway in a sharp winter breeze. He’s so tired. A bone-deep exhaustion pulls at him like he’s mortal again. But he has to find out what that is. At the wood’s edge, he pauses.

He can see the village clearly now, little houses still lit with firelight. It’s Solstice Night, they’re staying up late, ringing in the dawn as they do every year. He can feel the old woman’s magic around the village—what was her name, Luke’s sister? Leia, maybe, her magic a thick barrier surrounding the houses that dot the hillside. She’s told his story again this year. But that’s not what’s calling him. He narrows his eyes, searching for _whatever_ it is. In all the centuries he’s roamed the world, he’s only felt this once before. And it can’t be _him_.

At the largest house, he spies a child, curly-haired and chubby, staring at the woods. He frowns but the familiar feeling gets a little stronger and he brushes past the tree line into sight.

When the child spots his light, his big, round eyes get even bigger. He can feel the kid’s fear but over it is a layer of determination that takes him by surprise. Curiosity gets the better of him. Almost absently, he raises his hand, silently calling the child over to him.

What surprises him the most is that the kid actually comes, marching over on stubby legs, his round little face set in a hard, determined mien. He crouches as the child comes closer, drawing his limbs in so he doesn’t appear so big. He lets the fur hanging from his shoulders pool around him like a cape to hide his body. Gods know the kid’s already brave enough. No sense in scaring him with war paint and scars and blood. When the child finally breaches the lamplight, he recognizes that round little face.

Shit.

Before he can pull his vanishing act, the kid takes his hand, shakes it like any regular person would, and says, “Hello.”

“Hel-lo,” he stumbles, caught in a moment of surprise. It’s been a while since anyone just…shook his hand. For a second, his fingers hangs limp in the kid’s grasp. Then, he gets ahold of himself and shakes back with a firm grip. He tries a smile, too. But that’s also been a while and it feels colder than it should. So, instead he asks, “You’re Poe, aren’t you?” even though the knows the answer to that.

Luke had told him of the kid: son of his friends, a favorite village elders, precocious and fearless. He releases Poe’s hand and lowers his lantern to the ground. He’s sure it’s casting shadows on the angles of his face, probably making him look a little scary, but Poe puffs out his chest, determined to be brave even though his knees are shaking.

“How’d you know that?” Poe asks.

He smiles again, amused; this time it feels warmer and he’s pleased with himself. “Your grandpa Luke asked me to watch over you.”

It’s not exactly the truth. Luke did tell him about Poe. But it’s the strange familiarity that has him there.

“I don’t gotta be watched,” Poe mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know how to fight.” The fact that Luke's been gone for years apparently doesn’t strike him. Poe probably doesn’t really remember him. But the way Poe’s little face is screwed up is completely disarming and he has to laugh.

“Ok, ok,” he chuckles. “Big brave man, aren’t you?”

Poe perks up at that. “Yeah! I beat all my friends in our battles. They’re so slow. Snap always complains, but I know where the good jump spots are.” Then, Poe asks, “What’s your name?”

Well. That hurts. Way more than it should have. He looks at the ground for a second to gather his thoughts. What _was_ his name? He’s more legend than man now. It’s just been too long. Poe looks like he feels bad. Better to be honest, then.

“I don’t remember,” he murmurs.

Poe frowns. “How’d you forget your name?”

“I’ve been here a long time, you know.”

“What about your friends? Grandma says in her stories there’s three ladies that fight with you! Don’t they know?”

“They used to,” he smiles sadly. “But they don’t remember it, either.” Summer, Spring, and Fall. Oh, they all used to have names. He barely remembers theirs and he’s sure, “They barely know their own. It’s hard to remember when no one speaks your name.”

“Well, how ‘bout I give you one? I know lots of good names.”

He feels his eyebrows creep up. “You do, do you?”

“Yeah!” Poe exclaims. “Like…Finn! How ‘bout Finn? My friend Jess has a cat named Finn, he’s really nice. And you seem nice.”

And just like that, he has a name again. A warm, soft feeling blooms in his chest. Gods, that’s sweet. Just like a child to want everyone to be included. For everyone to feel special. A wide smile breaks over his face.

“I like that one,” he says. “Finn it is.”

“Now you gotta practice!” Poe sticks his hand back out, little fingers red with the cold. “I say, ‘Hi, I’m Poe. What’s your name?’ and you say—”

“Hi Poe, I’m Finn.” Finn takes his hand, shaking just like before.

“Now your lady friends have something to call you, too,” Poe smiles back, seemingly satisfied with the Huntsman’s answer. “You all should practice, so you don’t forget.”

That’s actually a good idea. Finn’s just forgotten that, too. He’ll make a point to remember. The Kyrja should remember. They all should.

“You’re very brave,” Finn says softly. “Thank you. Having a name again is very special.”

The wind picks up again, and under it, Finn hears the Kyrja. He looks over his shoulder, sees them in the wood. They’re calling him back. _It’s time to go, what are you doing there, it’s time to rest_. Finn shakes his head and sighs. When he turns back, Poe’s smiling wide at him, dancing back and forth on his toes.

“Can I ride in the Hunt with you?”

For a few seconds, Finn doesn’t say anything back, just stares. The kid wouldn’t know it but he’s taken Finn completely off his guard. What child wants to run off and join the Hunt? 

“You fight bad guys, right?” Poe chatters on. “I wanna do that, you could teach me! Maybe we can scare ‘em off for good, so everyone’s safe all the time.”

Finn still stares and Poe pouts. Poe’s a puzzle, that much is certain. He’s familiar, like Finn’s met him sometime before. He’s fearless, like another Finn knew lifetimes ago. And, more than that, he cares. Finn can feel it rolling off of him. Poe may be tiny in the grand scheme of it all, but he cares for his people in a way that makes Finn’s heart ache for him. He remembers what that feels like.

He’s just not sure what to make of this kid.

Finn sighs, purses his lips. He asks, “Do you know what it means to ride with me?”

“What d’you mean?”

“The Wild Hunt is forever, Poe. You can’t live like you do now, do you know that?”

Stubbornness screws up Poe’s face. “But—”

“You shouldn’t decide right now,” Finn murmurs. “The Hunt isn’t easy, our enemies are powerful and we are few.”

“So why do you do it?” Poe shoots back.

“We have to. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

It seems too simple an answer—and maybe it is. Poe opens his mouth when he hears,

“Poe!”

Poe whips to the sound, finds his mother standing at the meeting house. It takes a few seconds, but Finn finally sees the realization sink onto Poe’s shoulders. If Poe left now, he’d never see his mom again. And that seems to have scared him. Poe weaves back and forth, undecided.

Finn decides for him. No child will be joining the Hunt if he can help it.

“I’ll be seeing you, Poe,” Finn says from behind him. “Run on home now.”

When Poe looks back to where Finn crouched, Finn makes sure he sees nothing but trees, bending to a winter breeze. If he’s lucky, Poe will forget all about him.

“Poe, come back! What are you doing out there?” his mother calls.

From the tree line, Finn watches a moment more. Poe looks for him one more time before he sprints across the clearing back to the big house. He hits his mother’s knees so hard she nearly stumbles, burying his face in her stomach, fingers clutching at the soft fabric of her coat.

“Poe, sweetling,” Finn hears her murmurs, “what were you doing?”

Poe only shakes his head, trembling too much to say as dawn breaks pink on the horizon line.

Summer—Rey, he reminds himself—appears at his elbow in the soft morning light. “Care to explain what that was?”

“You can’t just go running off into villages,” Fall interjects. Rose. He reminds himself of her name, too. “Who knows how they’ll react.”

“Especially not to draw people off into the night,” Spring sighs, shoving at his shoulder. She’s Jannah. Jannah, he remembers.

“I know him…” Finn murmurs. “It’s Luke’s godchild.”

It’s not quite a lie. Poe _is_ Luke’s godchild, but there’s still that strange recognition niggling at him.

Rey squints at him. “You still should’ve left him alone.”

“He gave me a name,” Finn says, finally turning to face them. “He called me Finn.”

The three exchange incredulous glances.

“Finn…” Jannah says slowly, like she’s testing it out.

“Do you think this has to do with what the goddess promised?” Rose asks.

Finn spares one glance back at the village. The goddess and her prophecy… Poe and his mother have gone back inside. He firmly decides that’s exactly the way it should stay, promise or not.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But nothing’s gonna hurt him while I’m around.”

And the best way to do that is to keep his distance. The darkness hunts him, and he hunts it in return. It’s a bitter fight with no end in sight. Better to keep it as far from Poe as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	2. 10 Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more for me than anything else lol not a whole lot of action but a lot of emotions that i hope i did justice

_The first Kyrja, the deer, commands the spring. Breaks it at the turn of the year. The Huntsman walks as a giant bear, gentle and sleepy, with swarthy fur and scars across his nose. As the earth warms, he flows with the rain, soft and sure, leaving life budding in his wake._

_If ever you were to meet him, pray you meet him in the spring._

_—_

There’s a gentle spring rain when Poe sees the Huntsman again.

Poe stares at the fresh-turned earth, Kes’ hand heavy on his shoulder. He’s barely twenty and his mother's dead. They’ve Parted. The morning sun is bright, cheerful even, mocking the hurt in his heart. A breeze dries tears stiff on his cheeks. Friends and family shuffle by.

“Kes, we’re so sorry.”

“It happened so quick—”

“If there’s anything you need—”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Poe just stares at the ground. None of the words are directed at him. Not really, anyway. Kes’ hand tightens to comfort and Poe just wants to curl into a ball and disappear. But he can’t, can he? His shoulders slump, huddling in on himself as best he can to escape all the condolences that feel so empty.

At last, the funeral ends. Still he stands. Morning passes into afternoon, the sun hiding its face behind a cover of clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance but no rain yet falls. Just the clouds, sinking soft as a blanket into the treetops. Eventually, even his dad leaves.

“Don’t stay too long,” Kes murmurs. “L’ulo is making dinner for us.”

Poe just nods, wiping his nose with one hand as his throat clenches tight. When he can’t hear his dad’s footsteps any more, Poe sinks listlessly to his knees, picking at the grass in some semi-numb state.

_Where did she go?_

_Why’d she go?_

“Why’d you have to leave?” he asks aloud, almost startling himself in the quiet.

He stares at Shara’s stone, half-wishing she’d actually answer. She doesn’t. And Poe doesn’t know how to feel. More than anything, he just feels…empty.

“We all have to leave sometime,” a voice behind him calls.

Poe jumps, jolting to look over his shoulder. Leia is coming up the hill toward him, greying hair pulled tight at the base of her neck, a reddish shawl draped over her shoulders against the early spring chill. At a distance, she eyes him. Abruptly, she holds out her hand and tosses her head in the direction of the forest. Poe sighs.

“Don’t sigh,” Leia admonishes. “I have something I think you’ll like to see. Come on, you’ll feel better.”

Poe has to hold in another sigh but he gets to his feet, wiping grass and grave soil from his trousers. Grandma holds out her arm, Poe dutifully takes it. A path winds to the right from the graveyard back to the village. Leia takes the left, following a less-beaten trail into the gentle slopes at the mountain’s base. For a long while, they just walk together. Twigs crunch underfoot. Wildlife bustles in the brush before the rain. Ahead on the trail, Poe spots a deer, standing easy as you please. He stares, and the deer stares back, tilting its head as it watches them approach. For a second, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to leave. But Leia coughs, and in an instant, the deer is gone. Evaporated, almost. Poe blinks, shakes his head. _Strange…_

Further along, the path winds over hill and under broad, budding canopy before bisecting again. Leia takes left again, passing down overgrown trails and weathered stone steps. Poe helps her carefully down, holding her arm in case she should slip.

“This place is old,” she says ruefully. “Older than me, even.”

Poe can’t help the little smile that cracks his face. “I thought you were the oldest thing in the village,” he teases, half-hearted.

Leia scoffs. “Mind your manners, I’m a spring chicken compared to this place. Besides, Chewie’s got me beat by a mile. He just doesn't look it.”

Poe laughs, but it’s short-lived. Really, he’s curious about where they’re going, but he doesn’t have to wonder long. The steps circle down and finally end at the base of a gentle hill, following the topography of the land. He spots a stone bench at the edge of a crystal-clear pond, shimmering ethereal blue even under the clouds. The surface churns with invisible currents, vibrant plants wave in the deep. A spring, he realizes.

“This used to be a fixture for our village. It feeds into the river in the valley. I remember as a child coming here to get water for the house. My brother would always try to race.” Poe glances up at her and she winks. “He was faster, but I always made it home with more in my bucket and didn’t have to come twice.”

Leia coughs again, easing down to the bench as Poe nears the spring’s edge. The air seems to sigh with her, expanding and contracting like it did when she used to tell stories, spinning shadows into stories on the walls. She doesn’t tell them much any more. When Poe had asked why, she’d said there was too much outside the village, watching. Better to not attract attention with magic. He’s still not sure what she meant by that.

They sit together in silence for a while, just watching the water until Leia speaks again.

“Your mother brought your father here when they were first courting,” she murmurs. “By that time, the village drew water from our wells and this place was nearly forgotten. But, Kes always admired its beauty, just like he admired Shara. And Shara loved this place. She would come here by herself when she was young, just sit by the water for hours and watch the sky.”

Poe smiles to himself, thinking of a younger Shara sitting idly by, wanting to be anywhere but here. Funny, he knows the feeling. Even now, there’s a different kind of ache in his bones, desperate to be somewhere else.

“She never had her feet on the ground,” Leia sighs. “Always on the water, on her boat. Looking to the horizon, past it to the future. It still amazes me that your father managed to catch her attention.”

“She really loved him, didn’t she?”

Poe’s voice cracks in the middle and he hates how it makes him sound. Leia just smiles gently and gets to her feet, shuffling and settling a hand on Poe’s chin.

“She loved you both. She still does. And I know she would’ve wanted to you to have this place. When you’re here, you’re with her. So, stay a while.”

Leia pats his cheek gently twice, turns to leave. The air seems to waver and for an instant, Poe swears he can smell his mother’s favorite flowers on the air.

_Is she really there, or is it just Leia’s magic?_

Poe shakes his head as he watches Leia totter off. “Will you be alright?”

“Ah, I’ll be fine! It’ll take more than a forest trail to get rid of me. Come back before dark!”

Poe waits until Leia’s made it to the top of the stone steps and her back disappears into the brush before he sinks to the bench, holding his head in his hands. He’s finally alone. It takes a while, but the realization finally dawns on him.

Alone.

He’s alone.

And everything just comes crashing down, despite how hard he tries to hold it. Fat, hot tears roll down his cheeks, sobs catch in his throat and choke him. He won't let it out. He can’t. If he does, he’ll never be whole again. A gasp, he tastes salt. His nose runs down his face, and he scrubs at it with his shirt, desperate to stop, desperate to let it go. Even with Leia gone, he smells the flowers. Shara permeates the place, wrapping around him, all at once comforting and suffocating.

Through tears, something catches his eye. The deer is back. It stands still as before on the other side of the spring, watching. He wipes at his face again and takes a stuttering breath.

“Back again?” he asks it. “Here to make fun of me, huh?”

The deer actually manages to look affronted and it surprises Poe so much that the tears actually stop. It hops daintily off, flicking its tail in his direction like a cat before it trots around the spring up the steps. Poe watches it leave, a little gobsmacked. _What on earth?_ He blinks, and it’s gone again. Unsettled and upset, he slides from the bench to the pond's edge, splashing handfuls of frigid water on his face. His head aches a bit. Rainclouds deepen afternoon's gloom and tiny drops of rain tickle his lashes. He sighs, rubs his eyes. Maybe he should head home...

He splashes his face again. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t see someone approach. But he hears, “Poe, are you alright?” and windmills, nearly face-planting in the spring.

A firm hand grabs his shoulder and jerks him back onto his ass. Poe coughs, sputters on some leftover water. A snarky comment is halfway to his mouth but when he looks up, it dies on his tongue.

“Relax, it’s ok.”

_Like hell it is._

Poe stares up at possibly the most handsome face he’s ever seen. A man stands tall above him, barefoot and bare-chested except for a skin across his shoulders. Scars mark his chest and hands, several cross his face, giving him an edge that his eyes might otherwise belie. He's older than Poe but not by much, and looks wonderfully earnest past his rugged appearance. He holds out his hand. Something sparks in Poe’s brain. A distant memory--golden eyes, cold wind, a hand held to him. He squints. Something about him is so familiar but Poe just can’t place it.

“C’mon,” the man says, bending between them and grabbing Poe’s hand. His touch is as icy as the spring. “You can’t stay down there all day.”

He pulls Poe to his feet effortlessly and Poe shifts, awkward under his dark eyes. Who _is_ this?

The man smiles ruefully. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry.”

Poe’s throat feels stuck but he manages, “’s ok.”

Silence.

The stranger regards him curiously, eases back to the bench to take a seat. Seemingly content to let Poe get himself together. Which is not great; the last thing Poe needs is to get stuck in the woods with someone he doesn't know, no matter how handsome he is.

With more bravado than he feels, he asks, “Who are you? What are you doing down here?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “I live here.”

Well, that's vague.

“So do I! And I’ve never seen _you_ before.”

A little flash of something passes over the stranger’s face. If Poe didn’t know any better, he’d say it was disappointment. The moment passes and his eyes meet Poe's again like nothing happened.

“The forest’s pretty big, isn’t it?” the man asks drily.

“Er, yeah, I mean—it is! But this, this is my mom’s spring. What are you doing _here_?”

The man wrinkles his nose and it pulls three thin scars into focus, stretched taut over his cheek and jaw. Another note of familiarity trills in Poe’s gut. _Why does he remember this man?_

“My friend Jannah saw you crying,” he admits. “I—She…thought maybe you could use someone to talk to.”

“I wasn’t crying!” Poe protests, crossing his arms over his chest. Doesn't matter that he didn't see anyone himself, just the fact that strangers might see him cry makes him defensive.

The man raises his brow again, unimpressed. He doesn’t say anything and Poe feels the irate wind leave his sails. He sighs, drops his hands and shoves them into his pockets. Not quite meeting the man’s dark eyes, not quite sure what to say.

“You lost someone.”

It’s not even a question and it takes Poe by surprise. He stares slack-jawed for a second.

“How did—”

“I’ve seen that look before.”

The man scoots to the far side of the bench and pats the other end once, inviting. As much as it seems like a silly thing to do, Poe’s shoulders drop in defeat. He shuffles to the bench, slumps ignominiously. Maybe it would be easier to talk like this. There’s no pressure in it. Poe glances at the man and finds he’s leaned forward, fingers tangled between his knees as he watches the water. For a few long moments, Poe doesn’t say anything and neither does the stranger. Eventually though, the little composure Poe had slips away.

“She’s gone,” he chokes. “My mom.”

“You miss her.”

“Yeah."

“You’re angry at her.”

Again, a statement. Validating in its simplicity. If it were anyone else, Poe’d deny it. But here, he doesn't have to. Who's this guy going to tell? Maybe if he says it, she’ll hear. It's childish, he knows it is, but he hopes she does.

“ _Yes_ ," he whispers.

His eyes feel hot again and his throat tight. But, there it is. He's so, _so_ angry and it wells up in him like a scorching summer storm.

"She'd been in that river a thousand times. Rode it every day of her life. She taught me to swim in it. She taught _everyone_ to swim there. How could she drown? _How could she? "_

He's rambling, staring at the water. He feels a solid shoulder bump against his and he leans into it. Rain falls a little heavier, marking his face as ghosts of his unspent tears. He has to lean in or he's going to lose it.

"I guess all that advice, all the warnings she gave me didn't mean anything, she didn't even listen herself. What was she doing in the water, anyway? Why didn't she call for help? Why didn't we hear her? Why..." He trips, body wound tight. "Why didn't I go with her?"

And there's the crux of the matter. Poe vividly remembers Shara leaving, fishing pole and basket in hand less than a week ago. She was leaving for the morning’s work early, the others were supposed to be along soon. He remembers she smiled. Told him she'd be back.

He can't hold it in. A deep well in his chest overflows and cracks, bursting out his lungs as a harsh sound. His whole body aches with it and before he can stop himself, he's sobbing. An arm circles his shoulders, steadying him. He melts into it. Poe wraps himself around this stranger's chest, buries himself in the paradoxical, familiar presence. A smell like cold wind, burnished with a tang of salt and grave soil floods his nose. Against all odds, it’s comforting. But it doesn’t stop his mind spinning. Maybe if he'd gone with her, if he hadn't gone riding with Snap, if he'd told her not to go--if if _if if_.

_If I’d been better, she'd still be here._

"You don't know that," Poe hears.

_Was that out loud?_

"If you'd gone, you'd have died, too."

How did this stranger know that? What right did he have to say it? Poe pulls himself away, hiccuping a little and trying to get his breath back to argue. The man's gaze pins him to the spot; nothing comes out Poe's mouth. _Weren't his eyes black before_?

"Poe, there's things in this world no human can fight. Darkness you can't explain. It comes for you in the most unexpected of times." A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder. "If she could've helped it, your mom never would've left. And it's not your fault." Assiduous gold eyes dip and catch his. "She knows that, and so should you. You have to believe it."

It's raining in earnest now and Poe has to wipe his face several times.

"I'm sorry," the man murmurs. "I really am. I wish there was something we could've done, but how could we have known?"

He seems to be speaking about more than just himself and Poe doesn't understand. This man doesn't know his family, who could _we_ be? Semantics aside, his sentiment is soothing. It makes the tight ball in Poe's stomach ease. A little. Thunder rumbles overhead, cold rain patters through the forest around them. It cools some of the heat, the guilt still boiling in his heart. The stranger's focus seems to come back, catching Poe's gaze again. He sets his mouth in a firm line.

"Death isn't the end, I can promise you that,” he says. He gestures to the water. "Life ebbs and flows, like the spring. Always churning, always changing, never truly ending. You'll see her again."

Poe wraps his arms around himself but manages to nod.

The man sighs and rises, holding out his hand again. "Come on. Time to go home."

Poe sniffs. This time, he takes the man's hand of his own free will. As much as he'd hate to admit it, it feels good to have someone to pull him up. Literally and figuratively. Without another word, he follows back up the steps. On the trail, they walk side by side in silence. Surprisingly, Poe doesn't feel the need to say anything, and apparently neither does his new friend. By the time they make it to the trail's end, Poe's clothes are soaked and sticking to him. He shivers a little in the spring chill. Night's creeping in, settling soft and shady over his valley home.

At the edge of the forest, they stop. Poe turns, offering a wan smile and a quiet, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It's a simple statement, not a brushing-off or a sappy sentiment. It buoys Poe more than he'd ever say. It's acknowledgement, and it's soothing. The man dips his head in gentle farewell, gold eyes almost glowing in twilight before turning to the wood.

Something strikes Poe, an odd thought.

_I want to see him again._

He calls after him, "I never caught your name!"

The man's smile is small, almost impenetrable as he looks back over his shoulder. "Finn."

_Finn?_

Realization runs into him full-force; he has to shake his head. The memory, a cold winter's night. Gold eyes and that same mysterious smile. His feet are rooted to the spot but his mind is sprinting. He can't believe it. Is it--

"Finn!"

Finn raises his hand, waves, but doesn't turn.

"Wait!"

Poe starts after him, closing the distance fast. He glances down to get his bearings in the gloom, then--

When he looks up, Finn's gone. Footsteps vanishing in the rain.

Poe shakes his head again, not sure what to do. For the longest time, he'd thought Finn had been a dream. A manifestation of Grandma's stories. Maybe a tiny part of him had still believed but the older he got, the more unreal Finn had seemed. Now, a complicated twist of emotions blooms in his chest.

The Huntsman is real. Poe gave him his name, and just cried on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	3. Six Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise after this we get a little more action  
> bear with me through the build up lol

_The Huntsman’s lived in the mountain forest for generations. They say he was a warrior once, fighting grand armies with three warrior women—Kyrja. Together, they killed many enemies, saved their people time and time again using their otherworldly powers._

_While they lived, there was peace._

—

“He’s really caught your attention, hasn’t he?”

Finn snorts from his place on the ground, peering up into the tree’s gnarled limbs and spies Rey perched there. He hadn’t heard her fly in but she can be particularly sneaky when she has a mind to, so he can’t say he’s surprised.

“That’s not—”

“So you mean you’re not sat here again, watching him ride around on his horse, wind blowing in his perfect hair?”

“He doesn’t have _perfect hair._ ”

“He does.” Rey drops out of the tree to his side. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Finn sighs out his nose, more to himself than anything else. It’s cold out but his breath doesn’t cloud. The fresh snow doesn’t melt under him either though it’s starting to puddle under Rey in all her summer warmth. The Wild Hunt is drawing close, the days short and frigid. He should be preparing as he does every year. He _should_ be riding to the canyon come first light. And yet, here he is. Wasting time. Keeping an eye on Poe. Again.

Ok, so maybe he _is_ caught up. If he’s truthful, he’d say Poe caught his attention the second Finn saw him at the spring, trying so hard not to cry. Even if Jannah hadn’t told him, Finn’s positive he still would’ve felt Poe’s anguish. It was so strong it permeated the place, hints of it still wafting around the spring years later. And after revealing his mother perished on the river, Finn worked twice as hard to make sure no evil roamed its shores. It was the first time they’d heard of a creature roaming during the day, and it snowballed from there, ratcheting a tight fear in Finn’s heart. Something is coming. Maybe the end. Maybe he’s paranoid. As it stands, Finn _is_ sat at the crest of the forest, watching Poe ride back into town in the late winter light.

“I don’t really know what it is,” Finn admits. And it’s the truth. He’s not sure what to say after that, though.

Rey hums. When he glances at her out of the corner of his eye, he sees her eyebrow arched high, waiting.

“It started so small,” he tries again, “that familiar feeling. I saw him again at the spring, and it just…”

He’s not sure about the ‘just’ either. It felt like the feeling exploded after that, nagging after him at any time. He still had the forest to watch, people to protect. But more and more he finds himself drawn back to Poe. The least he can do to assuage his fear is keep an eye out.

“It’s been six years, Finn,” Rey reminds him.

“Who’s counting years still?”

She snorts. “Humans do, in case you forgot. And you come back here every year. It used to be just once. How many times have you been back this year?”

Finn presses his mouth into a line. He really has to think on that one. When he realizes it’s been at least five times, he decides to keep his mouth shut.

“With all that we have to do, all the places we have to be, you come back to _his_ village the most. You’re playing favorites. Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention,” Rey says, sounding a little sharp. Finn winces a bit as she goes on. “You asked Jannah to come twice this spring, to give them a little extra rain. You made sure their blooms were plenty. Don’t think we didn’t see the flowers you put around the spring, too. You worked with Rose during their harvest to give them the best fruits and vegetables. Stars, you even followed behind me to make sure their summer seeds were sown _just_ so.”

Finn finally gets the gumption to look fully at her. Because she’s right, he just hadn’t noticed it stack up like that. Calling this ‘playing favorites’ is an understatement.

“The year before, you did almost the same thing. You left him, him _specifically_ , a gift on his birthday. Jannah’s best mushrooms, if I remember right. Now here you are—” Oh no. “—and I haven’t seen you like this since—”

“ _Don’t,”_ Finn hisses.

Rey has the good grace to clap her teeth shut for an instant, something like chagrin on her face.

“I just think,” she says slowly, “and Jannah and Rose agree, that this may be more than you think it is.”

Finn knows exactly what she’s talking about but he desperately doesn’t want to get his hopes up. It hurts too much to consider what would be if the prophecy weren’t true. “The goddess could be wrong,” he says by way of escape.

Rey’s eyebrow ratchets up again. “Mother Goddess, she’s _wrong_?”

Finn keeps his mouth shut.

“What are you so _afraid_ of?” Rey asks incredulously. “If Poe is who we think he is, then that means—”

“I know what it means,” Finn retorts. “Don’t you think I know? Me? Of all people?” A little hurt skitters across Rey’s face and he can’t help a sigh. “I just…I just keeping thinking, what if she’s wrong?”

“What if she’s _right_?” Rey gets to her feet, the grass beneath her a shining, vibrant green in a sea of white. “That’s what you should worry about.” When Finn doesn’t say anything, she huffs and says, “Just…go down to him. Talk to him. Even if it’s not… _him_ , Poe might still be what you’re looking for. We need him.”

Finn stares resolutely at the village and eventually, Rey claps a hand on his shoulder with a sense of finality.

“Whatever you do, you better decide fast. We ride tomorrow,” she says.

With that, she’s gone. Taking to the air with a flap of wings, magic wafting the scent of a summer breeze.

When she’s out of range, Finn lets out a long breath. Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can just…talk. He’s never really been good at talking. Always teased as more of a man of action by—

Finn cuts himself off that line of thought before it can get away from him. He can’t afford to think of _him_ right now, not with the Wild Hunt so close. He’ll need all his focus. So maybe if he just _goes down to the village_ , he’ll get whatever this is out of his system and his head back in the game. Not that it’s a game. The villages in his care have lost an alarming number of people in the last six years, despite his best efforts. The Harrows are growing bolder, popping up in all seasons, too close to the villagers for comfort. For every person they save, there’s at least two others that vanish without a trace. Like Poe’s mother. That’s another reason he’s been watching Poe. The thought of that familiar spark falling to the dark is more than Finn can bear.

He’ll go.

He stands. Adjusts the sword slung across his back, straightens the fur he’s wearing, twists a few locs out of his face. It’s not primping.

It’s not.

Ok.

In a step, he’s halfway to the village. Another, he’s at the threshold of Poe’s home. The sun’s set low enough that Poe’s lamps are lit inside. Through the window, Finn sees him bent over the kitchen table, slicing at some vegetables with sure hands, a pot of water heating on the fire behind him. Finn swallows. He may be ageless but something about the scene has him feeling mortal again. He feels lost. Adrift in sentiment. Old memories filter in, sharing a kitchen like this one with someone else, years and years ago. Preparing food as a simple act of love. Soft kisses and softer skin pressing close, those same curls falling over that same face. Almost before he realizes it, his fingers touch the glass of the window, reaching in for that warm, familiar feeling.

Abruptly, Poe’s head pops up. He stares right at the window like he’s sensed Finn there. Before Finn can even think to move, Poe’s seen him. His eyes widen, lips form around the name he gave, a question— _Finn?_ Finn snaps his hand back and Poe loses his focus. The knife that’s cutting the vegetables slices a knuckle. Finn’s heart leaps, Poe curses inaudibly. But a determined look settle on Poe’s face. He’s wrapping a cloth around his bleeding finger and dashing for the door. Finn should probably move but his feet are heavy as lead. Oh, shit.

In a rush of warm light and warmer air, Poe bursts through the door. Finn just stands there, gaping at him as something hot burns in his skin for the first time in centuries.

“Finn, is that really you?”

Poe’s voice is deeper than he remembers, evened some in his twenty-six years. It’s a simple question but it shivers down Finn’s spine with a terrifying sort of familiarity.

“Yes,” is all he can manage.

Again, his hands move with a mind of their own, pulling his feet along into Poe’s space. He tenderly pulls Poe’s bleeding hand from where it’s cradled against his chest. Poe seems as stupefied as Finn feels, the air around them flexing in a sacrosanct sigh.

“What…what are you doin’ here?” Poe murmurs.

He doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Making sure you’re all right.”

It’s a closer truth than he ever would have usually allowed but he’s pulled the cloth from Poe’s fingers and they’re bleeding freely into Finn’s hand. It’s not a bad cut, but it’s still oozing, sluggish in the winter air. The touch of Poe’s blood scorches where it drips onto Finn’s skin.

“Not doin’ a very good job, are you?”

A sassy remark like that would normally loosen the tight feeling—it does pull a smile to Finn’s face. But does it break the feeling?

No.

“Sorry,” Finn mumbles. “Let me—”

He’s not very good at this. In fact, he’s not even sure it’ll work. He’s never done it before. But something in his gut begs him to try. With a deep breath, he brings Poe’s injured hand to his mouth, blows across the cut with a gentle, frigid breath. He feels Poe's shiver before he sees it, keeping a close eye on the wound as it slowly but surely knits itself together. For a moment more, he holds Poe’s fingers close, the heat of him seeping deep in Finn’s skin. When he looks up, Poe’s fixed him with an inscrutable look. He holds Finn fearlessly in his dark eyes, staid and curious all at once, teeth showing just behind the swell of his bottom lip. Distantly, Finn feels Poe’s thumb brush gently at the back of his hand.

“Where have you been?” Poe quietly asks.

And that’s what breaks the spell. Poe asks the question like he’s been _missing_ Finn, like it’s a question he’s been asking himself and saving for Finn for ages. He sounds just like—

“Uh…”

Poe frowns and Finn chokes. It’s all right there, just like Rey said it would be. Stars, the goddess was right.

Of course she was right.

Poe’s hand tightens on his. Finn just can’t take the weight of it. He’s burning. Heart racing like it hasn’t since he was last alive. He has to get out of there before he’s overwhelmed by it.

“I have to go.”

“No, no wait, don’t go! I have so many questions!”

Finn allows himself one thing. With his free hand, he gently cups Poe’s jaw, swiping his thumb once across Poe’s cheek.

“This can’t be. Not right now,” he murmurs. “Stay safe.”

Finn pulls his hands free. In a rush of cold air and a leap, he vaults back to the forest’s edge. His body’s shaking, skin tingling where Poe’s fingers laid. He looks back at the village just once to see Poe still standing on his porch, searching the horizon. With a little distance, the electric feeling in his veins is starting to dissipate. Even so, Finn’s never felt so energized. He’s not sure what to make of it, he’s only sure of one thing:

He’ll be seeing Poe again.

Finn turns to the forest and shakes out every limb. There’ll be time to investigate this but it can’t be now. The moon is taking its place in the sky. It’s time for the Wild Hunt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	4. Six Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaahhh now we're getting somewhere lol

_In summer, the second Kyrja rules, taking flight as a fierce bird, sowing seeds in fertile ground from her vast wings. The Huntsman prowls the fields—sometimes as a distant mirage of a man, flickering in the light. You might taste him in the water, when it's cool and slakes your thirst._

_In the summer, he still gives, if you are faithful and true. He keeps the dark at bay, his work is never through._

_—_

Poe looks for Finn after the impromptu meeting on his porch. Apparently, frustratingly, finding him proves impossible. It would seem that if the Huntsman doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. Poe knows the legends, he just wants to know more of the man. _Is he a man_? Maybe. Even if he’s not, Poe’s curiosity is still there. The chill Finn left in his skin is enough to spur him on, all other strange feelings notwithstanding. There is _something_ there, Poe’s just not sure what it is. More than anything, it’s like he _knows_ Finn.

But, that can’t be, can it?

With any spare time he has, he searches the mountain forest. Then, spare time becomes short. The woods get a little darker, the winter more brutal. The solstice passes without incident but as spring starts to bloom, one villager roaming near the woods at night goes missing. Then another. Then suddenly there’s no more going out after dark. And work still waits. The days grow longer and there’s just so much to do that Poe has to put the Huntsman to the back of his mind. The curiosity’s still there. It just takes a few months to satisfy. Though in retrospect, considering the time gaps before, Poe probably should be more satisfied with that knowledge.

He sees neither hide nor hair of the Huntsman until the next summer, when he loses his horse.

Accidentally, of course.

“C’mon, Snap! Can’t you do any better than that?”

“You’re gonna eat it, Poe. Slow down!”

“No way!”

BeeBee snorts like he agrees and Poe laughs. He glances back over his shoulder. Snap and Karé are far behind, Jess a little closer. Ha! He’s definitely going to win the bet. The others, maybe not. But Chewie never said they had to make it back at the same time.

The four of them had ridden to the east, to the next village over, tasked to trade for medicinal supplies and seeds. The seeds were a given; they traded with their neighbors every year. Better crops that way, and a little variety. Chewie grew most of what he needed to take care of the major aches and pains in the village, but he’d needed something specific. No one in the other village could sign with him and he was a homebody besides. It was just easier to send his village hotshots. At least, that’s what he’d said as they left.

“I don’t see you complaining when you get a fast delivery, old man,” Poe had teased.

Chewie stared him down and, straight-faced, signed, _A day isn’t fast._

“We can make it back in less than that!”

_Sure, you’d make it back faster if you stopped screwing around._

Poe knew a challenge when he saw one. He had smirked at Chewie and hopped on BeeBee’s back.

“I bet we make it back before dark.”

No one could do a skeptical face like Chewie. _A day’s hard labor says you won’t make it before sunset_.

“I’ll take that bet.”

Now, over the sound of BeeBee’s hooves is a stiff breeze, whistling through the pine needles. It could almost pass for peaceful if not for the treacherous trail. He almost hits a couple limbs once or twice when he’s looking back for the others—they’re long gone. They passed on the trail together on the way but something about it seems more sinister in the late summer afternoon. The sun passes behind a cloud and out of the corner of his eye, Poe spies something. He turns, sees a shadow flitting behind the trees. Poe frowns, a hard lump of fear settling in his stomach.

The sun’s gone. Where would the shadow come from?

Loud footsteps rise over BeeBee’s, so loud it sounds like someone is right on his heels. Poe glances back, doesn’t see anything. The sound grows louder. What _is_ that? From his left, he hears a fox shriek. The sun peeks back out from the cloud, shining bright on the path ahead. There _is_ a fox, huge, almost half BeeBee’s size weaving up the trail. And dead ahead, he sees _something_.

He can’t make out exactly what but it’s dark and hunched and reaching for him. 

“What the hell?”

Poe pulls up BeeBee’s reins. They slow, the creature groans. BeeBee rears back and skids to a halt, shuffles nervously in the dust. The fox shrieks again, almost a warning—as the shape bolts for him.

“What the _hell_!” He yanks BeeBee’s lead left, off the trail. “C’mon, c’mon let’s go!”

BeeBee seems to think that’s a great idea and bolts. It’s all Poe can do to hang on. Tree limbs hang low and dense, scratching at him through his clothes. Behind him, he hears horrible, pounding footsteps in the brush. Poe glances back, absolutely frozen in his saddle by what he sees. _Oh, no. No, no—_

Suddenly a woman’s voice tears with a vicious war-cry. There’s crashing in the trees, a sound like steel being drawn. _Who_ is _that?_ Poe looks back again and can’t hardly believe his eyes. A petite woman is, in fact, facing off against the creature. Orange sashes flow in the breeze around her, her black hair pulling wild from a tight bun at the base of her head, sword scabbard empty across her waist. But the _thing_ , the whatever-it-is is at least twice her size. It screeches at her, black ooze dripping from its six spidery limbs. A mouthful of teeth bare and hiss at her but against all odds, it seems to cower. She screams back, wild and savage—Poe can see why it’d be scared. He’s just about to pull his horse back round to her when another _thing_ drops out of the trees dead ahead in front of someone else.

BeeBee cries, rears back. Poe loses his grip, hits the ground so hard all the air is knocked out of him. He can hear BeeBee fleeing into the brush and it doesn’t sound like the thing is giving chase. It takes a second to get his breath back. His back aches, head hurts. One of the creatures shrieks and Poe bolts upright. He’s dazed, his vision spinning a bit, but whoever is fighting the thing closest to him answers in an inarticulate shout.

_Oh_.

Poe recognizes that voice.

“Finn?”

He doesn’t get any further—the thing Finn’s fighting lashes out with two of its six spidery arms and knocks Finn off his feet. Literally. The sword in his hand goes one way, he goes another, hitting a tree with a sickening crack.

“Finn!”

Poe barely registering what he’s doing. All he sees is the oozing creature scuttling after Finn, leaning over, maw gaping and dripping, its claws pinning Finn’s limbs to the ground. Poe snatches Finn’s sword where it fell. He darts forward, behind it. Drives the sword home as hard as he can, the point burying somewhere in the creature’s back. With an ear-splitting shriek, it rears up, flailing back toward him.

He can’t really see— _fuck_ , the thing is _huge_ —but between its thin legs, he thinks he sees Finn rolling to his feet. Poe manages to keep a hand on the sword and shouts back at it, dancing back, drawing its attention away. That works for all of two seconds before it flails close enough and knocks Poe’s feet out from under him. Its horrible, split face pops over his. He shouts, scrambles back, slipping and sliding in the pine needles. Two of the creature’s hands grasp at him, one catches his ankle. Claws tear through his trousers, nicking his flesh. He kicks. _Can’t escape, too tight_. The thing yanks him into the air, something pulling and burning in his boot and he yelps. Heart racing, he scrabbles at the ground, fingers managing to close around a thick cedar stick fallen in the forest floor. The whole world’s upside down now, the creature’s maw yawning and opening and getting closer by the second. What the fuck, what the _fuck—_ Poe twists, gets a grip on the makeshift weapon, jabs it as far as he can into the thing’s throat. It sticks; terrified victory flushes through him as black ooze spurts from the roof of its mouth, staining its teeth. It drops him. He lands hard, narrowly missing a rocky patch, scrambling as fast as he can out of reach. _Fuck, where’s Finn?_ He hears its claws fumble in the soil behind him, feels the breeze as it barely misses. Over his shoulder, it’s coming again. He rights himself, elbows scraping rocks, prepared to kick his way down its throat when he catches sight of something new.

A huge bear, bigger than any he’s ever seen barrels into the side of the creature. It’s as big as the creature. Bigger, even--twenty feet high or more. The thing’s gluey flesh sticks to the bear’s fur but it roars, rearing back on two legs. It catches two of the creature’s limbs—one arm, one leg—and pulls. The thing scrabbles with its free appendages. Poe can see tufts of fur tearing from the bear’s chest and shoulders but it doesn’t seem bothered. The bear yanks, the creature shrieks, somehow louder than before. Fissures appear at its joints, black bloody ooze dripping like molasses. The bear roars again and with one last heave, it tears the creature completely in two, a huge splash of fetid-smelling sludge lands at its feet.

Then, it rounds on Poe.

Poe can still hear the woman in the distance. There’s a fleeting thought to call for her, for Finn, but the bear’s advancing on him. Poe’s mouth won’t work. His eyes widen—oh, shit. He scrambles to his feet, only to fall immediately back down with a cry. His ankle, the one the creature grabbed, is throbbing. It won’t support his weight. He wriggles to his hands and knees and starts crawling—maybe it’ll go past him. He hears the bear take two steps, three, then there’s a rush of icy wind shaking the pines and he hears,

“Poe! Poe, are you ok?”

Poe stops in his tracks, absolutely flabbergasted. Before he can even get off his knees, a set of chilly hands pull him to his feet and frantic golden eyes rake him from head to toe.

“Finn!”

“Nice of you to drop in.” Finn’s mouth turns down in a grim smile. He throws Poe’s arm over his shoulder and steadies Poe’s weight against his side, careful to keep pressure off his injured ankle.

“Finn, what the _hell_ is that thing? What’s going on?”

“Not now,” Finn mutters, “not now. Hang on!”

Finn seems to take a step but the forest whirls past. Poe’s head spins, gods he might be sick. Suddenly, they’re a hundred yards ahead, the stench of the dead creature and the sound of the woman far away.

Oh, shit. The woman. “What about her? Shouldn’t we help her?”

“Rose’ll be fine,” Finn insists. He casts about, looking in all directions until his eyes narrow at something to the south. “Hold on.”

This time, Poe takes the warning and clings tight to Finn’s shoulders. The woods speed by again, everything feels a little woozy, but when they come to a stop, Poe sees a welcome sight.

“BeeBee!”

The horse tosses his head as if to say, _What the hell happened to you?_ and canters closer. Finn catches BeeBee’s lead and pushes Poe up and onto the horse’s back. His saddle’s gone, a few scratches evident in his orange and white hair, not bleeding now but scabbing sluggishly. Poe’s just managed to get his hands on the reins when Finn vaults onto BeeBee’s back behind him and snatches them away.

“Hey!”

“Shut it, we need to get out of here!” Finn shouts. “H’yah!”

With a quick flick of the reins, he whips BeeBee into a full gallop, heading due west back to the village, weaving out the trees and back onto the trail. Poe can barely hold on at that pace, clenching his legs tight to BeeBee’s sides. He’s ridden bare-back before but he’s far from adept at it. He tries to remember how to keep himself steady despite the ache in his leg. Feet back, core tight--come on, _come on_. It’s only when Finn’s arm wraps around his stomach and pulls Poe tall and tight to his chest does Poe feel some semblance of balance. He lets himself flow with the motion, a peculiar chill seeping into his back where Finn’s pressed against him. A thousand questions filter through his head but he can’t get any of them out at the pace Finn’s set. All he can hear is the wind in his ears and BeeBee’s hooves in the dirt.

At last, the forest breaks. Tall, towering trees give way to the gentle foothills of Poe’s home and Finn pulls BeeBee to a canter. Then, a trot. A walk. With no trouble at all, they’re barely moseying now. Poe reaches out, leans down and pats BeeBee’s neck as the village comes into view in the distance.

“Good job, buddy,” he murmurs.

It's as much to praise as it is to get himself level. His heart's still racing, the stench of the creature still stuck in his nose. Surreptitiously, Poe peeks over his shoulder. Finn’s arms are still wrapped around him, one hand in the reins, the other firm on his chest. His eyes have lost some of their golden color, settling now into a deep, inky black. Poe’s mouth goes a little dry at Finn’s intense expression and he turns back, clears his throat.

“So. That was fun.”

Finn scoffs and Poe can imagine him shaking his head. Almost reluctantly, Finn’s hand slides away. He hands over the lead.

“I guess you could say that.”

“You gonna tell me what that was?”

“We don’t really have a name for it.”

Poe scoffs this time. “You just tore a thing apart with your bare hands. Literally, with bear hands. And you don’t have a name for it? _And you can turn into a bear?_ ”

“I’m sensing questions.” Finn’s voice is about as dry as drought and Poe has to turn and stare.

“Uh, yeah. What’d you think you were in for?”

“Fine.” Finn’s mouth purses in what could be annoyance but his eyes still have a playful shine. “Where do you want to start?”

“Original question. What was that thing?”

Finn frowns and shrugs a bit helplessly. “They’re darkness. A Harrow, if you wanted to give it a fancy name. A curse.”

“Ok, what’s that even mean?”

“You know the story of the Huntsman, don’t you?”

Poe gulps. “Surely that’s not true.”

"I'm here, aren't I?" Finn shrugs again. “It's truer than you think. Your elders have been pretty spot on with the story. We don’t steal souls, though. Just ferry them.”

“So, that thing was part of an evil god’s curse? And that woman was a Kyrja?”

“The fall Kyrja,” Finn nods, all patience at this point. “Rose. My friend.”

Poe’s head is starting to spin. “And there’s two more?”

“Yes. You remember the deer, don’t you? At the spring?”

The memory comes to him so hard Poe can almost feel it physically slap him. The deer, the spring. His mother’s death. Meeting Finn. Again. Oh, _that’s_ got his dander up now.

“Speaking of,” Poe drawls, “what’s the idea showing up to see a guy cry then disappearing for years? Leaving me standing on my porch like that? And you look exactly the same _and_ turn into a bear??”

Finn has the good grace to look chagrinned. “Time doesn't mean the same to me as it does to you. A year passes like a day. You do know magic is a thing, right?”

Poe snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah. I just figured it was more parlor tricks. Y’know. Smokescreens. Shadow sorcery.”

He can feel Finn’s disapproval at that. Finn jostles the back of Poe’s good leg in reprimand. “Your elders are nothing to sneer at. Leia, especially. They’ve been keeping your village safe for a long time.”

Pieces of the story filter back and Poe has to ask, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

Finn huffs and grabs the reins again, pulling BeeBee to a stop and sliding off his back in one smooth motion. “What exactly would you call this right here?” he asks, staring up at Poe with hard eyes.

Clearly, he’s not amused anymore. At this angle, Poe can see scrapes and claw marks on his chest. Poe feels a bit guilty but can’t help poking at him one more time. So help him, he’s shaken, he’s angry, and Finn has no right to be so goddamn elusive.

“Well, I mean. Considering that my people have been going missing in these woods and that I just saved your ass, I’d say you’re not doin’ much of anything.”

Finn reels back like he’s been slapped. Hurt is plain on his face for a second or two, then he pulls a mask over it. Still he stares, mouth pressed in an unhappy, frustrated line. His eyes spark. Some of that gold color starts creeping back in and Poe swallows. It’s just then that he remembers he’s not talking to a man. Not a real one, anyway. He’s talking to the Huntsman. Who, according to legend, was a warrior, and not one to be taken lightly. Maybe he could’ve phrased that better _._ A little fear must sneak into his face because Finn’s gaze softens and he drops his eyes as he shakes his head.

“Still as stubborn…” he muses softly. When he looks back up at Poe, his eyes are fully gold, molten and searing. Poe’s stomach flips. “We’re trying. _I’m_ trying. I’ve been trying for a long time. You have to understand that.”

Poe sighs, a little more guilty. “I’m sorry. If the stories are true, that’s an understatement. Just…what am I supposed to do?” Finn’s eyes narrow and Poe elaborates, “I might be wrong, but I think you once told me that there’s a darkness humans can’t understand. We can’t fight it. I think that’s bullshit. There has to be _something_.”

Finn takes a second, like he can’t believe what Poe’s asking. He opens his mouth to respond but abruptly, someone else is calling Poe’s name. _Shit_. Finn freezes on the spot, looks ready to bolt, and Poe flails toward him. He barely catches a hand in the fur hanging off Finn’s shoulders.

“Wait! You can’t run off now!”

“Poe—”

“You can’t disappear again!” There’s an underlying desperation Poe doesn’t fully understand. He firmly tells himself it’s only because of his village, and not to do with the strange feeling in his heart. “You have to help us!”

“I _am_ helping you!” Finn hisses.

“Well, then we need something more hands-on. Teach me. Help me help them.” Poe hears the voice again and they’re closer this time. _Shit_. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Someone calls; Poe’s pretty sure it’s Snap coming up from the village. Finn groans but he wraps an icy hand around Poe’s and says, “All right, all right, I promise.”

“Poe! What the hell happened to you?” Snap shouts.

Poe throws a look over his shoulder and as soon as he does, he feels Finn slip from his fingers.

Damn it.

Damn it!

Poe sighs, disgusted but unsure at who exactly. Finn’s gone again, with no guarantee of when he’ll return. But. He did say he’d be back. Poe takes a deep breath and straightens, reining BeeBee back toward the village. Only when he’s sitting firmly at Chewie’s house, ankle wrapped in a foul-smelling poultice as he retells the story for the tenth time, does he realize.

He may or may not have made a demigod swear to him, which makes a pleasant, cool feeling sneak through, inside and out.

And what are the implications of that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	5. Three Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh meh

_When fall comes on a cool breath and the fox Kyrja ripens our food, the Huntsman follows. You can feel him as the autumn breeze, growing cold as winter nears. He whispers to those with wanderlust in their hearts. In autumn, he walks as a shadow, falling with every leaf._

_—_

Finn waits.

At least a few days. He has to wait.

Partially because he needs the village to settle before he can sneak in but also because he has no earthly idea of how to go forward.

Poe saved him. Poe picked up his sword and _saved_ him. No mortal should’ve been able to do that, Finn knows that much. His blade is imbued with dark magic, setting a frost in whatever it touches. Even now, it hangs on his back with a burning chill. The Harrows are nothing to be trifled with either, the black ooze slipping from their skins caustic enough to burn through flesh. Poisonous. Rey and Rose and Jannah have power to destroy them with their own magic too, but no other living thing has ever managed to fell one. This all to say, Finn knows battle. He knows battle with the Harrows. He’s been fighting them for centuries and only managed to barely keep them at bay. Poe not only stabbed one several times, he saved Finn’s life at the risk of his own. It fills him with a searing dread.

Ah.

And that.

Finn can’t even remember the last time he lost control like that, succumbed to such fear. The thought of transforming hadn’t even crossed his mind, he’d just _done_ it. And the power that coursed through him—he’d never felt that before, either. He’d ripped the Harrow in two. Completely. Because it threatened Poe. He doesn’t fully understand it, it just makes his chest ache. Absently, he rubs the spot over his heart that hurts the most, the marks of the Harrow’s claws healed now. But the question still dogs him.

What’s he going to do about Poe?

He promised to come back, so that’s at least a place to start. Poe wanted to learn to fight. Ok, Finn can do that. He’d rather the other villagers not catch sight of him, who knows how they’d react. So, he waits three days. He manages to find Poe’s saddle in the interim. Maybe it’ll make a good placating gift. Poe’s relegated to a set of crutches, his ankle still wrapped where the Harrow snatched him. Finn can tell even from a distance that Poe’s more than frustrated about it and some guilt burns in his stomach. He’s still fairly sure he can fix it, so when night falls on the third day, Finn steps back into the village. In a couple steps, he’s at Poe’s door. He hefts the saddle under his arm and gently knocks. Behind it is a little stumbling. Poe calls, “It’s open!” and Finn takes a deep breath.

As soon as he steps over the threshold, Poe starts scrambling up, flailing on one foot as he tries to get his balance.

“Hey, don’t do that!”

Finn drops the saddle and dashes across the room, gets a steadying hand under Poe’s arm. He eases Poe back into his chair in front of the lamplight while the man sputters,

“Finn, what the hell?”

Finn frowns. “You said to come back.”

He hears Poe gulp as he settles on the floor by his foot. Stars, he needs something to do with his hands, it’s hard to look at Poe. Healing would be a good place to start. Poe hisses as he unravels the bandage around his ankle.

“I didn’t think you’d listen.”

Finn’s frown deepens but he doesn’t look up at Poe. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I mean—” Poe shifts under his touch. “You’re the Huntsman. Why _would_ you?”

Finn drops the stained wrap on the floor by Poe’s foot. “I’m not a complete ass, you know,” he mumbles, appraising Poe’s ankle.

Poe’s made a fair point but the look of his wound has Finn completely distracted now. Welts mark his ankle where the Harrow snagged him, red and weeping. When he takes a closer look, he notices a faint pallor under the warm tone of Poe’s skin. Whatever plants the herbalist used seem to have slowed it a bit but there’s a distinct bite of infection in the air. _I shouldn’t have waited so long._ As gently as he can, Finn lays his fingers on the spots and takes a deep breath.

“What’re you doing?”

“Shh.”

Finn takes another breath and draws in his focus. He’s working purely on instinct but he can feel the Harrow’s venom shifting under Poe’s skin. His hands turn icy and he pulls them over the wound.

“Ow, _shit_ , Finn—”

Poe tries to jerk out of his grasp. Finn holds him fast.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs.

The poison is welling to the surface, it’s sticking to the ice at his fingertips. Poe sucks in a sharp breath and bites back on a groan.

“You’re doin’ good, keep breathing.”

Poe obliges and Finn pulls his hands all the way down his foot. When his fingers slip away, Poe lets out a deep gasp, his leg shaking where Finn has it perched on his knee. On his hands is a black, nebulous substance—the same stuff that sloughed from the Harrow’s skin. With a frigid breath, Finn freezes it before it can creep away, wrapping it in Poe’s ruined bandage and tucking it in his pocket to later destroy. With another deep breath, Finn blows some of that same magic over his ankle, the flesh knitting back together has it had on Poe’s knuckles.

For a few seconds, there’s just silence. Finn finally looks up and sees Poe staring at him, mouth slightly agape. He tries not to get caught up in the way the lamp lights a sheen on Poe’s lower lip. When he finds himself failing, Finn clears his throat and gets to his feet.

“There,” he manages. “Good as new.”

Poe alternates staring at his ankle and Finn’s face. So help him, Finn actually feels nervous. Which is something else he hasn’t felt in a long time. At last, Poe gets his mouth back.

“You came back,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Finn smiles awkwardly.

“You healed me.”

“Yes.”

“Again.”

“Yeah. Look—”

Poe scrambles to his feet, hopping twice on his new ankle with the widest grin on his face. “So this means you’re gonna teach me!”

“Only if—”

“This is great!” Poe exclaims. “I mean, you absolutely demolished that thing!”

“Poe—”

“Whatever I learn from you I can teach to my people here! I’ve thought it all out. We can rotate a guard, the smith can make some heavier weapons—”

“Poe!”

Poe’s attention snaps back to him and Finn shakes his head.

“Enthusiasm is great, but I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Learning to fight can take years.”

An unhappy frown creases itself into Poe’s excitement. “We don’t have years. My people are already in danger, you know that.”

“Better than you would imagine,” Finn mutters.

Poe’s lips purse, his hands resting on his hips as he shrugs and asks, “Why don’t you just give me the basics? Practice makes perfect, right?”

Finn sighs again. This is the part he’s still not sure about. He ventures, “Look, why don’t we saddle up your horse? I found it for you. I can take you to our training grounds. We can work there during the day, keep you out of the forest at night when the Harrows roam. It would be something. How’s that sound?”

"Thank you..." Poe looks thoughtful for all of a second before he sticks his hand out. “Deal.”

Finn’s heart flips a bit. Poe doesn’t ask what he might have to give in return—not that Finn would ask anything. He doesn’t even ask why they have to take his horse instead of just hopping across the forest. Maybe Poe realizes he needs to know the way, that Finn _wouldn’t_ ask for anything. His implicit trust is a little heady. Finn reaches out for Poe’s firm grip, basking in the heat it spreads up his arm.

“Deal.”

It takes Poe all of ten minutes to saddle up his horse. The night has risen cool and comforting, the moon bright enough in the sky to light the way. As before, Poe rides first, Finn sliding on behind him. This time, he leaves the reins in Poe’s capable hands, only murmuring directions in his ear, trying desperately to keep his hands to himself. When they enter the forest, Finn draws his sword but no Harrows wait for them. Not tonight, anyway. He guides Poe down a path not immediately apparent, hidden a bit by the gloom and the underbrush. But soon enough, they’re pushing into a clearing, bordered on all sides by massive, twisting oaks. Finn can hear Rey, Rose, and Jannah whispering from a distance. They’re all out patrolling the forest’s edge but he knows they can sense his presence in this place. He tries to telegraph back that there’s no danger, nothing to worry about. He lets some of Poe’s warmth seep into the message and rolls his eyes when he gets back several self-satisfied impressions.

He pushes Poe on to the farthest tree. It’s the largest of the bunch, struck ages ago by lightning, hollowed now to be his home. He slides off as Poe pulls BeeBee to a stop and motions for Poe to follow him. Inside, there’s magic afoot. Finn certainly considers it a point of pride, anyway. The inside of the tree has been altered, widened by a combination of magic and ingenuity. Several rooms branch off from the main entrance. Finn doesn’t need to sleep, though sometimes he enjoys it, so there’s a bedroom. He doesn’t need to eat, there’s no kitchen. But there are several rooms filled with enchantments and weapons. Some he and the Kyrja made over the years, others collected. Poe trails behind him slowly, looking everything over with a vast sort of wonder.

“Welcome,” Finn says, a little awkward. He draws Poe into one of the rooms and spreads his hands. “Pick one.”

Poe stares at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

The look on his face makes Finn smile. “Pick one,” he repeats. “I can’t teach you if you don’t have a weapon.”

“Oh…”

Poe is more surprised than Finn thought he’d be. Though, on the other hand, he hasn’t interacted with a mortal in some time and he certainly hasn’t ever brought one home before. Secretly, there is an ulterior motive to Poe picking his own weapon. A test, of sorts. Finn could’ve easily handed him any enchanted thing in there and it would have been perfectly serviceable. But, he wants to see which one Poe will pick. And he brought him to _this_ room for a very _specific_ weapon.

Finn’s own sword carries a curse, one he crafted himself in his grief. It’s cold, the very incarnation of winter’s brutality. It cuts poisonous wounds that never heal, made of black metal that reflects no light. In this room is its mate. Made from the same metal for someone he once loved, by the same artisan a millennium ago. The black blade shines with starlight, a silver patina glows no matter the time of day in the right hands. It’s not bright and sharp light like Rey’s sword, doesn’t carry the same fiery edge as Rose's or the revitalizing magic as Jannah’s spear. As Poe’s hands skim over all other weapons and circle round that singular blade, Finn finds he can’t breathe.

“This one, I think,” Poe says easily.

He plucks the blade from the wall and as soon as he pulls it from the scabbard, it brightens. As if to say _Hello, old friend_. Poe stares at it, a little more wonder creeping on his face.

“You can wield it…” is what slips out Finn’s mouth. But it’s soft enough Poe doesn’t hear.

“What?”

Finn clears his throat, determined to shake it off. “Nothing. You satisfied with that one? Give it a quick spin.”

Poe holds his eyes, almost nervous, before he pulls the sword the rest of the way and twirls it in an experimental circle. The sword nearly whistles through the air. Poe’s handling it like a natural. His wrist is loose but his grip firm.

He smiles. “It’s perfect.”

Finn swallows hard. “We’ll start tomorrow, then.”

Morning light stipples the training grounds when Poe arrives.

“So, where do we start?” Poe asks.

With a quick hand, he snatches Poe’s sword and throws him a stick. Poe looks so affronted Finn can’t help a laugh, which only serves to make the expression worse.

“You’ll be thankful for it, trust me,” he says the first day.

By the time the day is done, Poe can barely get back on his horse to ride to the village. So Finn rides with him, careful not to examine the contentedness in his heart too close. The next day, Poe’s better, limbs lithe and eager.

“Always keep your tip up,” Finn reminds the second day. “Weight back, knees bent.”

Poe pants, darting for him as he teases, “Is that what you say to everyone you bring home?”

Finn finds it better not to say anything to that.

Training has to wait nearly a week. Finn travels the mountain’s villages with Rey, sowing the summer as is part of his promise. But in six days, that familiar warmth blooms in his heart when he realizes Poe is waiting for him when he returns.

Time passes easily like that. Six days apart, two days training. Over and over as Poe improves. In no time at all, Poe picks up the basics, like his body remembers how to move, the sword more an extension of his arm than a separate thing.

Then, more advanced work. Finn drills with him, their bouts more a dance than a battle. It’s so evident the goddess was right, this _is_ who Finn hoped it would be. He does catch glimpses of _him_ , though Poe doesn’t seem to remember. But part of him hesitates to pursue it. It’s been too long. Finn doesn’t know how to even approach the tension he feels when Poe lays a hand between his shoulders or the warmth that lingers when his eyes flash in dappled light.

“You can’t go any faster?” Poe taunts as their blades clash. “I thought you were some mythic warrior.”

“Your mouth fights better than your hands, Dameron,” he teases back, happier than he would ever say to end up sprawling in the dirt when Poe gets the upper hand.

Poe’s filling the emptiness in his heart in a way Finn hadn’t thought he would.

He drills him against Rose and Jannah while Rey works her summer magic. When they see that Poe has _that_ sword, they both raise an eyebrow but decline a comment at his stern look. Summer turns to fall and Finn travels with Rose, setting a gentle chill to ripen the crops. When Poe and Rey take to sparring in his absence, he has to break up more than one argument between them—Jannah finds their antics too amusing to intervene.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Rey growls once.

“Don’t kill him!” Poe cries, ducking out of reach behind Finn’s shoulders.

Finn makes a placating motion and says, “Don’t kill him. You’ll win next time.”

Poe does _not_ help matters by slapping Rey’s wrist with the flat of his sword. Finn spends the better part of that day sitting with Jannah, arms crossed, watching Rey chase Poe around the training ground in her hawk form.

It’s late autumn when Jannah takes Poe aside and supplies him with weapons. Poe creates his Guard, starts training his friends back in the village. Once or twice, or a million times, Finn watches from the forest’s edge as Poe runs their drills, a strange sort of pride rising in his chest. Watching Poe with the Kyrja, training his own men, it makes Finn’s heart clench. More and more, he sees pieces of the one he lost behind Poe’s bright eyes. But his pride, his laugh and smile—even without the familiarity Finn feels, Poe would’ve wormed his way into Finn’s heart. He’s done so quite successfully, actually. And that scares Finn as much as it warms him.

Fall is also then that Poe starts watching him back. In fall, a feeling rises in Poe, calling Finn from anywhere. Sometimes, Finn can feel Poe’s eyes on him from across the village clearing. Sometimes, that look is soft, unguarded. Sometimes, it’s curious, or sad. Finn hates it when Poe looks sad. He sees glimpses of Poe’s heart and has to catch himself when they’re alone, so he doesn’t press.

“Do you ever feel like…something’s missing?” Poe asks him once as they sit alone together in Finn’s forest home.

He lets his fingers trace the back of Poe’s hand. “Yes.”

It’s a simple answer. He often doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be himself. He _should_ be turning the seasons, keeping a vigil through the wood as he has always done. But Poe keeps calling him back. Not that Poe needs to know that. When he doesn’t elaborate, Poe purses his lips and drops his eyes. Finn can't help wonder why, can’t help wonder: Does Poe remember anything?

Does he know how Finn feels, or felt? Does he feel the same?

On the cusp of winter, Finn gets his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if my first note wasn't a clue, i'm feeling meh about this chapter. the next one's better, and weirder, i promise
> 
> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	6. A Parting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD WE'RE FINALLY HERE  
> these last few chapters are what i wrote 13k worth of STUFF for, so it would make sense to everyone else and not just live as a picture in my head
> 
> I AM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THE REST WITH YOU and i sincerely hope you enjoy the ride

_Together, the Huntsman and the Kyrja crafted the gentleness of spring, the vitality of summer, autumn harvests to help their people thrive. Impressed at such a wonderful feat, the gods granted the Huntsman’s wish at a price. The seasons began, and the four were tasked to tend them. In return, his people were well cared for._

_With his friends returned, his lover restored, the Huntsman promised to keep the seasons through the year._

_An evil god saw the good of the seasons and hated it._

_—_

Stars, he shouldn't have asked for Finn to step it up.

Steel crashes against steel and Poe feels his arms shake. He pants, parries, darts forward and back. Shit, this is harder than he thought it’d be.

“C’mon,” Finn teases, “I thought you wanted a challenge.”

In a blustery frigid gust, Finn is right back in his space again, inches from his face. Poe barely has time to bring his sword up to block. Finn’s definitely getting the better of him this time but it doesn’t stop Poe from grinning.

“Oh, were you trying? I hadn’t noticed.”

Finn’s eyes spark, a little more gold color sneaking in. He may be getting the upper hand, but Poe has a plan. He steps back again, towards the massive oaks at the edge of the training ground. Their branches spread overhead, trunks still a ways away. But. If he can get Finn in there, he just might win. Element of surprise. Finn swings his sword low, turning it at the last second so the flat of it smacks smartly on Poe’s thigh. Damn. Poe bites his lip at the smirk playing on Finn's face. _Damn_ damn.

“That’s another for me. Pay attention,” Finn chides. “Do you _want_ to lose?”

Poe pointedly doesn’t look over his shoulder to gauge the distance. It can’t be far. He grins. Finn’s smirk slips.

“I don’t like that look.”

“Yeah, that's fair,” Poe drawls.

Finn narrows his eyes and Poe’s off like a shot. Oh, thank gods, the trees are closer than he thought. Finn growls, wind nips at him as Finn gives chase. Poe rounds a tree, darts behind another, doubles back, weaves behind. Finn’s got his back to him, he’s just a couple feet away. Now if he could just—

Finn whirls on the spot and before Poe can start to move, Finn dashes in, crowding Poe up against the nearest tree with an icy breeze. His arm braces against Poe’s chest, holding him in place, practice sword dangling from loose fingers.

Finn turns a teasing grin. “Good try.”

Poe snorts, trying not to lose his focus in the distracting pout of Finn’s mouth. “Cute.”

Finn shifts his gaze, stares at Poe's lips, all his edges softening. For a moment, the space between them grows tight. Maybe it would be ok to lose focus. That pleasant chill is creeping in where Finn’s touching him. How did he get that close? Poe starts to lean forward just as a look like fear skitters across Finn’s face. Then, Finn steps back and the moment’s gone. Absently, he rubs at one of the scars across his face before he clears his throat.

“Good try,” he says again. It sounds more sincere this time. “You’ve really come a long way.”

“Thanks.”

Poe takes a second to straighten himself and step away from the tree, swinging his sword nonchalantly as he does. The black metal shines, its pervasive starlight glow trailing the air even in the late evening sun. Finn watches him, looking somewhere between sad and pleased. It’s a strange look and it makes Poe cock his head in silent question.

Finn keeps the distance between them but his voice feels like it’s right in Poe’s ear. “Think you’re ready to learn one last trick?”

It catches Poe’s attention, never mind the shiver it sparks. “What d’you mean?”

Finn nods at Poe’s sword. “It has one thing to master still. A little magic. Think you’re up for it?”

Poe’s a little apprehensive at that. He hasn’t ever done magic himself. That was always something the village Elders did, or their apprentices. Leia and Jess, for example. Poe knows the basics but, “I don’t really know magic.”

Finn smiles gently, holding out his hand. Poe hands over his sword without a second thought, pausing only at Finn’s pensive gaze.

“This sword has a story, you know,” he says. “It’s only magic in the right hands.” He gives the sword an experimental twist, staring at it. “I can’t use it, even though my blade is made of the same metal. Rose, Rey, and Jannah all tried, too.”

Finn looks at him meaningfully, which makes Poe feel like he’s missing something. Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time. He’s been feeling like something is missing for months. If he’s being truly honest, since Finn showed up on his porch. Or even years before that.

“In the hands of its master, it creates a shield of light unlike any other, protecting whoever stands behind it from any attack. It’s only ever answered to one. And now you.”

Something sparks in Poe’s memory, the briefest glimpse of a battle. Blood and death. Blinding white light and Finn shouting. He has to close his eyes against it, presses a hand to his head. But, as soon as it appeared, the vision passes. When he opens his eyes again, Finn’s back in his space, hand outstretched like he’s ready to catch Poe should he fall. The sentiment makes his heart clench, something deep and cool and full spreading there.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Finn drops his hand.

He misses it.

“So how does this work?”

Finn offers him a small smile, inverting the sword to hand it back to him hilt-first. “It's a feeling.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Poe frowns.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Finn shrugs. “I can’t show you how, I only know that’s what it does. You have to follow the feeling.”

Well, how’s that supposed to work? That’s not helpful. In fact, it sounds ominous as hell. He’s not even sure where to start.

“Don't be afraid,” Finn says, like he’s heard Poe’s apprehension. He takes a few steps behind, frames Poe’s shoulders with his hands. “Take a deep breath.”

He does. It stutters a bit. Finn shifts. Suddenly, his mouth is right next to Poe’s ear.

“Tip up,” he murmurs.

Poe’s hands follow without a thought, bringing the sword's point to the level of his eye.

“Close your eyes.” He does. “Breathe. Tell me what you feel.”

Poe breathes in the forest deep. Beneath the piquing pine is Finn’s familiar scent; cold wind, salt and soil. Further still, early snow. Musk. Decay. Finn’s fingers tighten around his shoulders minutely. At his own fingertips, a shock.

“The forest. Cold,” he whispers. “Something sparking.” He sees the blade in his mind’s eye, still black and shining. Words appear at the cross-guard, written in a language he’s never seen but still understands. “ _Gently rise and softly call, heart’s true aim preserve us all._ ”

Poe opens his eyes and sees the forest in a whole new way. Everything is wavy, drifting in and out of focus. It shifts, wind in the trees thrown into sharp detail. Then something skittering under fallen needles. He’s never felt anything like this, a clarity and detachment. At the point of his sword, he sees a light. Like all the starlight in the blade concentrated there, casting the woozy wood in sharp shadow. _Is that it?_

Finn’s voice is soft, coaxing, shivering down his neck. “Try.”

Poe draws the sword down in an arc, quick and sharp and short. It’s blinding white, phosphorescent. Finn sucks in a sharp breath behind him. Everything before him explodes into light, a shimmering patina illuminating every crevice. Poe reaches out, touches it in wonder. The surface of it ripples, the texture like nothing he’s ever felt, half like solid steel, half the densest fog. It lasts for a few moments more, silence stretching through the woods. When at last it dissolves, coruscating as so many shards of glass, Poe finally lets a breath go.

“You did it,” Finn breathes.

Poe turns under Finn’s hands, lowers his sword. What he finds on Finn’s face is not what he expected. It's longing. An ache palpable in the space between them, visible in the pinching of his brow, the clench of his teeth and the pull on the scars across his face. Finn’s looking at him with those gold eyes like he’s been waiting, wanting for ages. Something in the back of Poe’s mind says _he was, he has, he is._ Finn’s fingers slip from his shoulder to his jaw, framing Poe’s face with a singular kind of tenderness Poe’s felt somewhere before but can't place. But Finn doesn’t move from there. He swipes a thumb across Poe’s cheek as once prior, soft smile failing to dispel the look in his eyes. Poe's heart aches; everything is there. Right there. He hopes.

_Ok._

Poe closes the distance between them slowly, presses their lips together, tentative. For a second, Finn doesn’t react. Another. Finn’s frozen. Poe refuses to let panic take him, but it doesn’t stop the disappointment. He backs away, just as slow, a chill still clinging to his lips. Then, all at once Finn’s in motion. He chases Poe’s mouth, kissing him with a kind of fervor that makes Poe’s knees weak. A hand frame Poe’s face, another buries in the curls at the back of his neck. A slight tug and Finn pulls him flush. _Oh, that is_ — Poe just opens for him, hands falling to Finn’s hips, sword forgotten, lips parting as Finn’s tongue sneaks in. Finn gasps, and it’s the most tantalizing sound Poe’s ever heard. He lets his hands wander beneath the fur Finn wears, across the line of Finn’s leathers where they sit on his hips. Stars, he could do this forever, kiss Finn for ages.

But Finn slips away, his frigid hands sliding down Poe’s chest as he rests their foreheads together. It's just as intimate and it has him reeling. Poe takes a second to breathe, to just breathe him in and reckon with what exactly he’s gotten himself into. Then, Finn softly asks, “Do you remember?” and it throws him.

Poe frowns and he tilts his head back to catch Finn’s hooded eyes. “Remember what?”

There’s an quick flash of something on Finn’s face. Surprise, sadness maybe. But it’s there and gone so quick Poe can’t make heads or tails of it. Before he can ask, Finn squeezes his hands with a kind of finality.

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “It's nothing.”

Poe just frowns at him again. He doesn’t drop his hands but he doesn’t know what to say. It’s clear Finn’s closing off. Whatever he meant is not open for discussion right now.

“You’re confused…”

There’s that uncanny ability again, to sum whatever Poe’s feeling into so few words. He bites his lip.

“Yeah.”

Finn tugs his hands, Poe lets himself be pulled in. Darkness starts to gather around them as Finn gathers Poe in his arms and kisses his forehead. In that instant, Poe feels very small, succumbing to something deeper than he can name.

“I'm sorry. I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Finn says.

“Promise?” It sounds a little vulnerable to Poe’s ears but Finn squeezes him once.

“Promise.” He steps back, looks up at the coming gloom, though lets his fingers stay tangled with Poe’s. “Time to go home.”

Finn rides back to the village with him, a steady presence at his back. He’s quiet until they reach Poe’s cabin. When they stand together on the porch, as so many months before, he says in a dark tone, “Solstice Night is coming, Poe. There’s things I have to do before then.”

Poe sighs, a cavernous feeling deepening between them.

“I have to go for a while.” There’s still something he’s holding back when he brushes a kiss across Poe’s cheek that’s as cold as the air around them.

“You’ll come back, right?”

Finn smiles gently. “The Huntsman keeps his promises.”

Poe swallows but nods.

It’s hard to watch him go.

Poe drifts through his duties for a few days, unsure of where he should be anchored. Leia eyes him then. He walks with her at the woods’ edge. Rides with Snap, Karé, and Jess in the evening, armored as they are with Jannah’s weapons. After another couple days, he gets back into the swing of things, though he sorely misses Finn’s distinct chill. The Solstice is only a week away now. And Poe’s noticed something odd.

Leia.

She’s taken to wandering more, passing by the woods over and over. It looks like she's fortifying what spells she's left there, though Poe doesn't know what for. Chewie watches after her but when Poe asks him why, he refuses to answer. Poe keeps an eye on her, fearful of the Harrows. There’s a shade that seems to follow her, a deep exhaustion set in her face. There’s a frightening familiarity to it, he’s just not sure exactly why.

What happens before the solstice he should worry for?

His answer comes later, when he finds Leia at the river.

That place haunts him still, a grim reminder of his mother's death. He certainly doesn't associate it with anything good despite what it provides for the village. An icicle of fear shoves its way into his chest. _What is she doing here?_

“Leia?”

“Hello, Poe.”

She sounds stern as always, but more tired than he’s ever heard. She sits on a fallen tree near the water’s edge, hands resting on her cane between her outstretched legs. Poe sits gingerly on her left in the morning sun. If it were any other day, he’d enjoy the feel of it, the quiet company. But this is different.

“What’re you doin’ down here?” he asks carefully.

“Waiting on a friend of ours.”

She doesn’t say who but Poe doesn’t have to ask.

“Why?”

She shoots him a side-eye glance and purses her lips. “Did I ever tell you about my son?”

Poe stares. “What?”

In short, no. He didn’t even know she’d had a son. It was so rare for her to talk about her past he barely remembers the stories of her husband. Or her brother, though he remembers what they look like from the vaguest of memories. They'd disappeared right around the same time, to his knowledge. Leia sighs and sits back a bit, exhaustion hanging heavy on her shoulders.

“I had a son,” she repeats, “years ago. When you were barely toddling at your mother’s knee. Ben. He had our magic, he could do things you couldn’t even imagine. Luke trained him from a young age to refine his power. Luke lived outside the village; in the woods, you know. It was hard for me, and for Han, to have Ben absent for part of the year. And maybe that was the problem.” Leia shifts and Poe does too, unconsciously. She pinches her brow before looking at him. “I never blamed my brother for what happened. He did the best he could, I know he did. But there was something in those woods that turned Ben against us.”

Poe’s stomach clenches on a terrifying way. Leia seems to sense his distress and lays a comforting hand on his arm. She sighs and pats, turning back to the river.

“I may not know the Huntsman like you do, but I know the story. The Harrows are simple beasts, corrupted souls with a single purpose. Their leader sends them out to destroy us, and Ben accepted his power at the price of his father.”

Poe physically recoils at the implication. Oh god, “You mean—”

“Han tried to reason with him, and it cost him his life. Ben was betrayed, made a Harrow himself, mindless and violent. Luke, distraught as he was, made a deal with the Huntsman to stop him and the rest of them. Any soul can do that, if they’re brave enough to ride. I’ve done what I can but now it’s time to do more. I know you’ve seen it, Poe. The growing darkness. Our friend needs all the help he can get. And it’s time for me to go.”

A cold wind creeps up his back; it has nothing to do with the still winter morning. A familiar smell of salt and grave soil permeates the air. For the first time, Poe dreads to turn to it. He knows who it is. Leia glances over her shoulder as Poe hears Finn gently ask,

“Are you ready?”

Leia sighs deeply and rocks forward. “Yes, I think I am.”

Poe shoots to his feet, whipping to face Finn. He’s struck by what he sees. It occurs to him he hasn’t ever seen Finn in full daylight before. There must be some truth to the legends. Finn’s edges seem to be…dark. Like a shadow. Not quite solid, not quite real. Like in Leia’s stories. A flickering shadow in the foggy river haze. Poe stares, and he can’t help the shiver that sneaks down his spine.

Finn regards him with those gold eyes; for the first time, it’s heady and humbling. A strange, tangible power fills the air between them and makes Poe’s chest feel tight. Leia’s making her way around the log. _No, no no no, this can’t be._ It takes a few seconds to get his mouth working, but he finally has a handle on it.

“Finn, what are you doing?”

Finn glances between Leia and Poe. Only when Leia nods gently does he say, “This is part of how I protect my people. Our people. I’m taking Leia on from here.”

Poe’s heart clenches. _This_ is what comes before the solstice: a collecting of souls. This is what Finn held back, at least in part.

“Why?”

“It’s time for our Parting,” Leia murmurs. “Time to join the fight.”

She reaches out for him, grasps Poe’s arm and drags him into a tight embrace. For a moment, his arms won’t seem to cooperate. Then, all at once, he takes in a huge breath and squeezes her tight.

“Are you sure?” he asks into her hair. His voice doesn’t break but it’s a close thing. “Do you have to go?”

“Everyone has to leave sometime.” Leia pulls away and puts a hand on his cheek with a smile. “Like this, I can keep our friends safe, just as I always have. I get to see Luke again. And Han. Death’s never really the end, you know.”

Hot tears sear Poe’s eyes but he laughs a little helplessly at her tone and it dispels most of them. His gaze slides to Finn. “Where have I heard that before?”

“This is her choice,” Finn says gently.

“I know,” Poe gulps, “it’s just—”

“You forgot.”

He nods. It’s a simple statement. Everything Poe’s thinking in so few words. This time, it hurts. But it doesn’t make it less true. He _had_ forgotten just what Finn is, too caught up in what he feels and in what Finn makes him feel. He forgot what Finn’s purpose is, and what that might mean for the people Poe loves. Poe lets himself slump for just an instant. Partings are always so hard. Then, he squares his shoulders.

“You—you take care of her.”

Finn smiles. He holds out his hand to Leia and helps her to his side. They link arms, it seems like they’re going to leave, but Finn pauses. This time, he holds out his hand to Poe. Automatically, Poe’s hand rises to meet him, even as he realizes how tired Finn is, too. He takes Poe’s fingers in a chilly grasp, bends, a kiss like frost pressed over his knuckles.

Poe’s breath stops.

“I’ll take care of her,” Finn says, brushing Poe’s jaw with those cold fingers. “I promise.”

Poe gulps. “The Huntsman keeps his promises, right?”

“I do.” Finn smiles at him again and straightens. “I’ll see you soon,” is the last thing he says before he leads Leia down the river bank. Leia raises a hand in a final farewell and Poe watches them go. At ten feet, they both start to shimmer. At fifty, they’re no more than shadows on the wind. At a hundred, they’re gone. And Poe’s alone.

He stares after their vanished silhouettes for a while still before he shakes himself. He’s trying to get rid of the pervasive numbness that’s creeping in. Like when his mother died. Maybe if he shakes it off, it’ll be ok. It’s a silly thing to tell himself, but he does it once more for good measure and feels marginally better. Maybe Leia’s right. He'll see her again. A small part of his heart believes it. Eventually, he treks back to the village, to his home, letting the hours pass listlessly. He pours himself a drink as the sun sets bloody-red behind the mountain. Sits in front of his house, waiting for what, he's not sure.

Poe wonders if Finn will come like he said. If he can find some comfort like he has before. He hopes so.

Night passes.

His eyes feel gritty, dry, his body heavy. It’s all he can do to stay awake. When sunrise starts to break, he gets his answer.

Finn’s not coming.

The morning birds start their chorus, mocking in their cheerful song. He drags himself inside and collapses into bed, sadness a bitter tang in his mouth. For a week, the village mourns, Poe with them. He makes peace with Leia’s Parting as best he can, and still waits.

He doesn’t see Finn again until the night before the solstice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little weirdness in the imagery I hope 
> 
> It only gets worse from here imo😆
> 
> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	7. A Finding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOOOOOODDDDDDD  
> it's schmoopy babes it's angsty it's a mess and a lot of backstory i hope you forgive me lolol

_Before the pact, the Huntsman and the Kyrja were mortal. Though they vanquished many enemies, the worst was yet to come. They aged, as do we all. Eventually, they were defeated, and a darkness threatened the land. Many died and the Huntsman couldn't help them—the Kyrja and his friends perished, his lover taken last._

_As he lay dying on the battlefield, the Huntsman called to the gods, promising whatever they asked if given the power to protect his people forever. The gods gave him a chance. So, the Huntsman struck a deal._

_—_

This was not what he planned.

Finn clutches his thigh, stumbling from the forest. Maybe he lost them? Blood oozes slowly between his fingers, his knees feel weak. In the other hand is his sword, covering the ground in a deep frost as it drags. Thoughts are foggy, unclear—he just wants to be somewhere safe. He needs to heal before he can go back again. He’s not really sure where he’s going, following a pull in his heart. He makes it halfway into a clearing before his knees give out under him. He stumbles, catches himself in the grass, panting. Behind him, crashing in the underbrush.

The Harrows. They followed him.

In the distance, he spies two people on horseback. Finn shakes his head, frantic for clarity. A sinking sensation settles on him. New ones found him, and he’s led them right to Poe’s village. Maybe they haven’t seen him yet. With all the effort he can muster, Finn draws himself up, wrapping two bloody hands around the hilt of his sword. He widens his stance, stands firm. The crashing’s closer—can’t let them get to the village. He grits his teeth.

The next instant, two Harrow beasts burst from the undergrowth. They don’t pause, locking sightless faces on him, scrabbling through the frost. Finn tightens his grip, swings wildly at the closest one. Even tired as he is, he manages a hit through its distended belly. The creature shrieks, black sludge splattering grass. The second circles. He rounds on it, strikes again. This one’s faster, scuttling out of range on a hundred tiny legs. It rears back, a horribly, distorted face set with clacking chelicera. It snaps. Misses. The first rises behind him, raking across his back before he can dodge, drawing out of reach as he strikes at it.

A shout tears out of his throat. He falls. Not all the way, catches himself on one knee fast enough to sever the drooling mouthpieces snapping at his head. The Harrow flails back, gurgling, spewing black. Hoofbeats near. Finn hears someone shout again. Blearily, he recognizes the voice.

“Finn!”

Poe.

His vision fogs, blood loss and exhaustion trembling his limbs. One of Poe’s Guard, a fierce-looking woman darts in behind him, impaling the hundred-leg Harrow on her spear. Finn pants, the tip of his sword shaking, the first Harrow scuttling toward him again. In an instant, Poe dashes between them, sword drawn, gleaming. The Harrow’s already moving at full speed. Finn loses his grip on his blade, curses, fumbles for it. His hand closes around the hilt just as the Harrow runs head-on into an invisible barrier. It jars, stumbles, the whole clearing blazing in a white light. Finn hears Poe shout. He’s rounding, sword piercing it, suffusing it with more of that light. The darkness of its skin begins to bubble and burn. It screams, thrashes. Poe vaults from his horse, laying into the creature one last time. The light seems to pulse its way out and the whole creature pops like a bubble, its darkness splattering the grass, Poe’s shirt. _No no, not good_ —

“Poe,” he croaks. “Poe, get it off.”

Poe flies back to him, hair matted to his forehead with black goo. _He’s gotta get it off_. As soon as he’s close enough, Finn paws at Poe’s shirt, single-mindedly trying to wipe the gunk away before it burns into Poe’s skin. Poe seems to get with the program. He rips his shirt over his head, wiping the majority of the slick mess away. Finn feels his hands steady knowing Poe won’t be burned, and it’s that instant that the last of his strength leaves him. Distantly, Poe calls for BeeBee, he's laid over the horse’s back. He’s just so tired… Poe’s shouting directions at his comrade, then the sky’s moving overhead. Maybe this is it. The Parting. Death. It’s been so long, Finn’s not sure how to handle it. A tiny part of him thinks maybe it would be good to finally go. The larger part clings to consciousness, desperate not to lose Poe again.

The sky gives way to the line of a roof, Poe’s easing him from BeeBee’s back, tossing the fur from his shoulders. Together, they shuffle through the door. Some of the tiredness eases as Poe presses into him in a warm line, mumbling something at him.

“C’mon, that’s it. Easy steps.”

Finn huffs a tiny laugh as he realizes, “You saved me. Again.”

“Tit for tat. You heal, I save. I'm sensing a pattern,” Poe teases, over the edge in his voice. "I wouldn’t have to if you’d stay out of trouble."

It sounds rough but there’s no barb in it as Poe eases him into a chair at his kitchen table. It makes him smile.

“Part of the job. They’re going to start telling stories about you. ‘The Huntsman’s Keeper.’” He might sound a little delirious, but in his defense, he hasn’t been this injured since he died. Which is a weird thing to say itself.

“Yeah, well they better be good,” Poe grunts, shuffling around in the cabinets for a jar of something and filling two dishes with water from the sink. “At least as good as your stories if I’m keeping your ass out of trouble.”

“Poe Dameron, great protector and saver of asses,” Finn laughs, but it devolves into a cough that rattles in his chest. Poe’s brow draws in as he makes a shushing noise and stands behind Finn.

“Take it easy. The last thing I want is for some stupid comment to steal the life out of you.”

Finn just nods, leaning forward at Poe’s prompting tap so his back doesn’t touch the chair. There won’t be a Parting tonight, he can feel that. Now that he's not fighting, his magic seems to be catching up. Being in Poe’s presence is lending that same energizing feeling to Finn’s limbs that it had before. He’s still tired, but it’s enough. He just hopes he’ll recover before the Hunt. Behind him, Poe dips a rag in a bowl and wrings it clean. Finn sighs as the cloth passes over his back. Poe’s hands are achingly tender, wiping away at the blood and sweat and grime.

“That thing got you good,” Poe murmurs when Finn hisses. “Guess Leia was right.”

That piques Finn’s interest. “Hmm?”

“She said you needed help,” Poe clarifies. “This seems different. Was she right? What happened?”

A tightness in Finn’s chest eases. Poe realizes there’s been a change. If Finn were a more prideful man, he’d never admit his failure. But he's old enough to see the foolishness in that. Poe’s right. Just, where to start?

“I took Leia to the spirit world," he tries. "I’ve got one foot in the door, if you want to think of it that way. So I can call on them at the solstice, ferry them back and forth.”

Poe blinks. “You do that for the Hunt?”

“Yes. Some want to fight, even in death. Like Leia. When I came back, the Harrows were waiting. Dozens of them,” he says, voice hitching in the middle as Poe wipes at a tender spot low on his back.

“So there's more than before?”

“Yes,” Finn sighs. “We knew there would be more. Just…not this many.” He pauses. Considers. Maybe it would help. He did promise to tell the story, after all. “Would you like to hear to whole thing?”

Poe’s quiet for a moment, rinsing the cloth again. “I would,” he says at last.

Finn leans forward a little more, letting his arms rest on his knees, careful to keep the slashes on his thigh from creasing as they sluggishly bleed. “It’s not a long story. Not really, anyway. Just about one man’s fear, if you really wanted to boil it down to a point.” Poe hums, a question in the noise. “To tell the truth, there’s parts of it I don’t really remember. It’s been so long. But 'The Huntsman' I became started with a Parting.”

Poe shifts behind him. Finn takes a deep breath, even though it makes him wounds stretch and ache. “Before all of this, I was a captive. A slave to a group that called themselves The First Men. I escaped with a man named Kane and he took me to his village. We…made a family, of other people like us. I loved him.”

A tiny smile crosses his face. “It’s funny. I couldn’t remember my name after all this time, but I can remember his. He and I, and the Kyrja, were the Guards of our village. Like you and your friends now. There weren’t any seasons then, just a winter that stretched on and on. We could barely grow our own food, and what we had was always at risk. We knew some magic though, enough to keep our enemies at bay and our people fed.”

He glances back at Poe, but he looks absorbed in his task, slathering the cuts with a sharp-smelling slick.

“We aged," he continues. "All humans age, magic or no. The First grew, rode from the east, pillaging and burning their way toward us. We…we fought them as best we could, beat them back a few times. But we couldn’t hold them forever. Rose fell first. Then Rey. Jannah, all the others. Kane beside me.” He takes another steadying breath, shuddering at the memory. “I saw them all fall. I...couldn't help them in time. I was the last.”

Poe rests a comforting hand on Finn’s shoulder, coming around his side and settling between his knees.

“I’m so sorry.”

Finn’s almost lost in the memory, the aching, sucking pain that swirled on that battlefield dogging him still. Poe taps his knee and helps him shimmy out of his pants. His leg throbs as the leather pulls over the gashes. He loses focus. The cloth passes over the cuts on his left thigh and it draws him back. His back already feels less tender. These are a different story. They're older, several days without rest to set them back. With one hand, Poe starts wiping him clean. The other sits across Finn’s right hip and thigh, solid and steadying. Poe’s lips part, welcoming. Finn decides to chance it, rests his hand across Poe’s forearm. The contact is grounding but his heart twinges. 

“I was dying,” Finn admits. “I was afraid. I called for help, for anyone. Someone answered. Mother Goddess.” Poe quirks an eyebrow. “Your legends say ‘gods’ but it was only one. Only her. I begged her to spare my people. She gave me a chance, restored Kane and the Kyrja as I asked. She promised they could stay if we proved worthy. I don’t know what she saw in me that moved her hand, but I’m grateful for it.”

“You must not look at yourself very hard,” Poe murmurs, covering his thigh in the same poultice, "if you're too blind to see what I see."

Finn blinks. There it is again, little traces of Kane shining through. Finn wets his lips, maybe he should just tell him. But Poe keeps his eyes fastidiously fixed on Finn’s leg and the moment passes.

“You made the seasons,” Poe prompts. “That’s what is in the legend. Is that true?”

“It wasn’t my idea though that much is true,” Finn nods. “I knew we wouldn’t win her favor with something destructive but I didn’t know what to do. Rose and Jannah actually came up with the idea. Brilliant, both of them. We gave it a shot, crafted spring, summer, and fall in the spirit world, waiting for her judgement. And it worked. For a long time, things were good.”

“So what happened? After.”

“The Harrow King. He sparked the darkness that created The First. When we rose again, he turned all of The First Men into these creatures in a fit of rage. In hopes of destroying what his sister made, if I had to guess. The winter was his to begin with, and when we made the seasons, he created something deeper. Darker. A lasting curse. He steals people to fill his ranks. He promises them anything that might sway them. He strips them of any magic they might have and creates a new Harrow from their soul. When they first appeared, we managed to beat them back into a canyon, a fissure at the far side of the mountain. After that battle, we realized the winter wasn’t passing. More of our people died. Something was missing.”

Finn’s throat closes up as he thinks about what happened next. Poe’s hand stills. He absently traces the scars on his face before his voice comes back to him.

“We live, immune to disease, but not great injury. We went back to the canyon to finish it.I--we lost Kane. It fell my lot that I rose; he did not. The goddess gave us a spell to bind her twin but we couldn’t do it without him. We were only able to contain them to a shorter winter. And we do that every year as they grow and seep out. That god wove a second curse from Kane’s death, that winter would reign again. I took what I could myself, became winter, if you want to think of it that way, so it wouldn't spread.In return, the goddess made a promise: Kane would return with my name, and we would end the curse.”

For a long moment, there's silence. Poe's looking anywhere but Finn's face. He hates it. He wants. He wants desperately to touch, for Poe to look at him. Is it selfish to want, after all this time? _Is that the moral of my story?_

Sometimes he wonders.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Poe frowns. “Why doesn’t the goddess take care of her opposite? Why would she let a curse like that go? Why do _you_ have to do this?”

“Because I asked.”

It’s a simple answer, maybe too simple. But, it’s the truth. Finn had asked for his people to be saved. This is what resulted, and it’s what he has to set right. Poe still looks skeptical, still smeared in grass and grime. Now, Finn just has to find a way to tell Poe how he’s tied into this. Maybe—

“I used to be him, didn’t I?”

Finn blinks. Stares. His mouth works but no sound comes out.

“I have Kane’s sword. You said it only answered to one other but here we are.”

“Poe—”

Poe’s face screws up, toeing the line between frustrated and comforting. “I feel it. I think I’ve felt it for a long time. When you found me at the spring. I’ve been missing something, only I didn’t know it was _you_ and I didn’t know why. There’s a, a familiarity, a feeling. I don’t know, it’s soothing. I could live in it, if I’m honest. I just…I’m _not_ him. I don’t remember those things. Maybe there’s a part of him in me, some memories, but I have my own, my family. Even if I am him, I don’t want to be. Because I’m _me_.”

Finn’s eyes flutter shut. He doesn't remember. Of course he doesn't. Poe isn’t Kane. Finn knew that, somewhere. A profound sense of loss still plucks at his heart. Kane's gone, then. Really gone. But Poe is solidly, achingly present. Finn’s torn, feels a divide between past and present. What he remembers and what he could have now. And all that aside, how could Poe want him when that divide must be so evident? It burns in a way he's never felt, the first inklings of fire in his blood since death. But, he’s pulled out of himself by a gentle hand on his chin. He opens his eyes and finds Poe still there, still settled between his knees, looking steadily on.

“Just because I don’t want to be him doesn’t mean I don't feel for you,” Poe says softly. “I’m capable of seeing what Kane saw. More so, I'd like to think. You're a good man, Finn. I'm not asking you to forget you loved him. Everyone we love take a little part of us when they go. But I am asking you know I’m _not_ him. If we--if you want this, I need to know you want me for _me_. Not for the memory of him. Can you promise me that?”

It’s then Finn takes a hard look at Poe. He has the same curls, the same shape to his face that Finn remembers so vividly. The same dark eyes. But now that he really looks, he sees the differences more clearly. Poe’s face in lined with laughter, evidence of a happy life Kane never led. Finn wants to see more of that there. His skin is marked with signs of a different path, hard work in the field for himself instead of The First’s labor camp. His cheeks lack Kane’s shadows--Finn never wants them to appear. His hands lack his scars--they should stay that way. His eyes, while the same color, shine with a different kind of brightness that makes Finn's heart so light. Even before, Finn had seen the changes. Drawn in as he'd never been. Poe’s demeanor, his thoughts and words, all evidence of a man of his own. He may be similar, and have a part of Kane with him. But he’s not the same. Finn swallows thickly. Could he love this person who so resembles that which he lost? See past the similarities to the man Poe is?

What hits Finn the hardest is: How could he even ask that?

“I promise.”

Of course he can. Poe is…Poe is resolution. Fulfillment. Surpassing the void Kane left in a way Finn never imagined possible. A soft smile breaks over Poe’s face and he inches closer, hand still on Finn’s jaw, pulling him down.

“The Huntsman keeps his promises?”

“Yes,” Finn whispers. His hands circle Poe’s shoulders, he leans down. Moth; flame.

Poe smirks. “Does the Huntsman kiss as good as I remember?”

Poe waits, holds him suspended in the tiny space between them. It’s his turn, Finn realizes. Poe may have bravado in his voice but his eyes still have hesitation. This is where Finn has to prove his promise. The start of it, anyway. Glacially slow, he dips his head, leaving time and space for Poe to change his mind. Centimeters away, Poe’s eyes flutter closed. He arches up, heat spreading through Finn like wildfire. Finn presses his lips to Poe’s, a gentle nameless emotion rising in his heart. Poe breaks away to push into the crux of Finn’s thighs like he was made to be there. He tangles his hands in Finn’s locs, careful of injuries as he angles for another hungry kiss. Finn lets himself go to sensation, digging his fingers into the warm, broad expanse of Poe’s back, swallowing his shiver when Finn’s hands find his sides. Poe’s mouth is hot, blazing, melting the ice in his skin. Something clicks into place, a feeling of _right_ , of _perfect._

_Finally_.

Memories can be laid to rest; he's found at last. This is exactly where he’s meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that a reference to my second favorite OI performance annihilation? why yes yes it is
> 
> only one more left! hope you're ready for the hunt
> 
> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	8. A Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you'll forgive the extra chapter, the final bit got so long i felt like it had to be split for readability
> 
> as a note, if you've ever read from me before you might know there's always a song inspo that works its way in. if you're interested, keep your eye out for an easter egg link bc i fucking LOVE that song 
> 
> if you don't care about the song, that's totally fine too, you won't miss any important meaning, just the vibe i'm trying to convey for the last two chapters lololol

_An evil god saw the good of the seasons and hated it. He set a curse in motion for the Huntsman and the Kyrja, adding our fourth season, blanketing the world in a chill so deep it killed many of our people. The Huntsman's lover perished, slain by the darkness that poisoned the land._

_In winter, the Huntsman turns vengeful, angry for his people, devastated by his lost love. Now, he walks as death. Pray you don’t cross him then._

—

Poe wakes to the Solstice with Finn still by his side.

He’d led Finn to bed after bandaging his wounds, to rest. When he'd settled in, Poe only had energy enough to wash himself clean of the Harrow’s filth before tumbling in after him. Not enough energy to think. Last night’s realization came with a second when Poe first woke. If he used to be Kane—and it seems he is, or was—then that means he’ll have to join the Wild Hunt to finish what Kane started. To himself, Poe can admit he’s afraid. Leia spoke of the Hunt when he was a child, always warning them away. There’s a very real possibility he may not come back, mortal as he is. Poe wonders about it. It seems like the spell is the only way to win. And Finn needs him for that.

In full morning light, the edges of Finn’s dark skin flicker like flame. Like a mirage, not to be believed. Poe’s just muzzy enough to reach across the space, settle his hand over Finn’s heart to reassure himself he’s real. Finn gently stirs, turning in the sheets to throw an arm over Poe’s back, but he doesn’t wake just yet. Poe breathes deep. He traces a scar across Finn’s cheek lightly. He's trying to settle the nerves in his stomach but it's not really working.

As if sensing his distress, Finn begins to wake. His arm around Poe’s back tightens, drawing him near to his flickering edges.

“Morning,” Poe murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Finn’s mouth.

It’s not much, but he feels entitled to the comfort. The Huntsman’s not as cold as he was, which strikes Poe odd.When Finn gives him a content sigh, it eases him some. Finn hasn’t opened his eyes.

“You’re worried.”

Poe clamps his jaw shut, opting instead to take Finn’s hand from his back and hold it between them. As he rubs his thumb over scars there, he finds Finn looking at him, eyes dark, no hint of golden magic.

It’s hard to admit it, but, “Yeah. I am.”

“You don’t have to ride the Hunt. I won't ask for more than you can give.” There it is again, that eerie ability to know, which takes him by surprise. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Finn hasn't pressed, never even asked for anything that Poe didn't already want. He smears a gentle kiss across Poe’s knuckles. “I’ve fought with the Kyrja for a long time. Another winter isn’t anything more.”

"What do you--" His voice breaks and he has to stop a moment. Finn watches him, brow pinched. "What do you think'll happen, if you win?"

"I don't know."

"And if you lose?"

"We won't."

Finn's words are sure but his eyes say different. That deep cavernous feeling threatens to swallow the space between them, despite his heart beating it back. Part of him is terrified. The other is slowly realizing what would happen if he said no. He thinks of Kes, of Chewie and Jess. Snap and Karé and all the others starting their morning rounds in his village. They would die. The Harrows would only continue to grow. He’s never seen Finn so tired. Even he can't fight them forever, not at that number. If he _doesn’t_ ride, the Harrows may well win. Leia’s Parting would mean nothing if the spell can’t be completed. As much as he hates to the goddess's complacency, her absolute refusal to pick up the fight, he can’t sit by himself and do nothing. The god’s curse seems to be working itself to completion. If Finn falls, eternal winter returns. Even though he's never fought, the thought of Finn riding without him makes his stomach churn. Laying as they are, legs tangled together under blanket layers, Finn’s skin nearly as warm as his, it’s easy to think of him has a man. Not the Huntsman, just Finn. Not someone who fought battle after battle for the ones he loved. Not a warrior, just his.

His; again.

He can’t let him go alone.

“I’m with you.”

Finn breathes out slow, like he’d been holding it in. Poe gathers him in his arms, sheltering his flickering edges as Finn tucks his face into Poe’s neck and lays a gentle kiss there.

“Thank you,” Finn murmurs.

It's a simple statement, not a brushing-off or a sappy sentiment. It buoys Poe with the same feeling that’d found him at the spring. It's acknowledgement. And it’s enough.

Poe kisses the crest of Finn’s forehead, squeezing him close. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”

Finn leaves. Later, when they’ve pulled themselves from bed. The cuts on his thigh are still evident, not quite closed but enough to slide his leathers back on. A long scar pulls tight across his back, shiny and new. He's not fully healed, though so much more than the night before. But there's no time left. At nightfall, he’ll return, and the Wild Hunt will begin. Poe dresses. It’s the only solid decision he makes. He drifts through the day in a daze. Half of him shakes with nerves, half tries to shed the pervasive numb feeling that he so associates with Parting. He hugs his father, his friends, getting questions he doesn’t know how to answer and looks he can’t face. When the sun just starts to sink behind the mountain, he finds himself brushing BeeBee absently down. He won’t ride him tonight but he’s run out of things to do with his hands. He’s on his second pass when a voice startles him.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you better come back.”

It’s Jess. He turns sharp, finding her with Snap and Karé at the stable door. They each hold the weapons Poe gave them, looking serious and somber in the fading light.

“What’re you talkin’ about? I'm not goin' anywhere.”

He’s never been good at playing dumb and Karé snorts.

“You’re a terrible liar, Dameron.”

Poe sighs, adjusting the sword across his hip to give himself something to do.

“Yeah…” he concedes. “I am.”

“You could’ve told us you were going with the Kyrja,” Snap says, starting toward him with sure feet. “We’ll come with you.”

Poe blinks, surprised. “I never told you about them, how did—”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Karé repeats as she shoulders her spear. “And the Huntsman isn’t as sneaky as he thinks.”

Poe bites his lip, unable to hold their eyes. “You can’t come.”

“Why? Because we’re not magic?” Snap scoffs. "Jess is, and we can hold our own."

“No, it’s—”

“I’d say we’re pretty good fighters,” Karé adds. “No one's disappeared since we started the Guard.”

“I know, I know,” Poe stresses, finally taking a step toward them. “But I need you here. If I don’t—”

“Don’t you even,” Snap growls.

Poe shoulders through it. “If I don’t come back, you have to keep everyone safe. If we lose, it’s gonna get a lot worse.” They collectively frown at him. “If we can’t win, those things are gonna be everywhere.”

A harsh silence falls over them. Poe’s almost sure they’re going to do something rash until Snap sighs. He’s the closest and he comes a little closer, gripping Poe’s shoulder tight. A hard lump forms in Poe’s throat but he returns the gesture. Karé and Jess each take a side, holding fast with a hand each. It’s all he can do to smile back at them and say with as much bravado as he can muster,

“You don’t need to worry. We’re gonna finish this.”

A new voice replies, “Of course we are,” making his comrades drop their hands and turn.

Finn’s back, shoulders lit by the passing sun. Poe gapes, the others gasp. Finn’s never looked so stunning. Or so shocking.

He’s still wearing the black fur on his shoulders, sword slung across his back. But his long locs are painted a fearful white, braided to the back of his head, holding a bear’s skull in place like a crown. His chest is painted with the same white, in sigils Poe recognizes as protection, fortitude, and others too old to name. The three scars across his face are highlighted too, and his eyes glow in the coming gloom.

“Are you ready to go?”

It sounds so much like the tone he posed to Leia that it makes Poe falter. But only for a moment. Finn’s not here to take him to his Parting. He's here to fight. Poe straightens his shoulders, giving his Guard one last nod. Finn holds out his hand and, when their fingers meet, the stable vanishes.

It’s the most disorienting thing Poe's felt in a while, but after a step he gets his feet. Finn takes another step, Poe steps with him, and the village whirls by. In another step, they’re at the forest’s edge, another lands them at the rim of an ancient graveyard. Headstones lean, highlighted a bloody blaze. The Kyrja are already waiting, painted up in the same fearsome way. Rose is streaked in shades of saffron, fox skull in her hair like a smaller version of Finn’s. Jannah wears a crown of horns, skin decorated in azurite. Rey, painted ocher, hair braided and streaming feathers.

“Dressed for a party,” Poe gulps. “Someone should’ve told me, I’d have brought my own paint.”

Rose scoffs at him, but it’s with a smile. “At least someone thought ahead,” she says, pulling a packet from her orange sashes.

Finn catches it as she tosses it his way. Before he can ask what she meant, Finn’s gently painting his face with the same marks. One on each cheek, one on each hand. He fixes Poe a heated look as he pops a few buttons on Poe’s shirt and paints the dip at the base of his throat. Poe swallows and feels Finn’s fingers bob with the motion.

“Why d’you do this?” he manages.

Finn simply says, “Protection.” He grins, teeth showing as it takes a sanguinary edge. “And it doesn’t hurt to look a little scary.”

“It’s hard to be afraid of things that are more afraid of you,” Rose supplies.

“Any idea what we do when we get there?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jannah fish through the satchel on her hip. From it, she pulls a five-sided pyramid, sharp and crystalline but glowing reddish in her hand. The longer he stares, the louder it gets—an ancient, sinister susurration ringing in his ears.

“The Halda,” she says, jarring him from the sound. “Part of the goddess’s spell. We make it to the canyon’s center, to the Harrow King’s throne, and finish the spell.”

“How do we do that?”

“Say the magic words,” Rey drawls.

Rose elbows her. “Can you take this seriously, please?”

“They’re _literally_ magic words, I don’t know what you want me to say,” she says, teasing free a lock of Rose's hair.

“You could say it with a little more care.”

Rey crosses her arms, looks on the verge of arguing further until Finn glares her way. Poe watches Finn for a moment, thoughtful. Something about their words strikes a chord. Something nebulous, just out of reach. Finn pops a few more buttons and draws a sigil over Poe’s heart. At his touch, words ring clear in Poe’s head:

“‘If e'er dawn should light anew, what evil wrought be bound and through.’”

The Kyrja stare.

Finn stares.

“What?” 

Silence sits heavy between them. Poe’s mouth gets the better of him.

“Those are the words, aren’t they?”

“They are.” Jannah narrows her eyes. “How did you know them?”

“Did I say ‘em wrong? Am I gonna turn into a frog?”

Finn snorts, saying, “He’s heard them before,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and that breaks tension some. Until Finn said it, Poe wasn’t exactly sure himself where the words came from. But, it tracks, for what that’s worth. He may not have all of Kane’s memories, but he obviously remembers the important stuff. Like swordfighting. And devil-binding spells. And Finn. He can’t help but wonder what else might come. Finn’s fingers find their way to Poe’s solar plexus, drawing the last. He leans back, satisfied. Poe chases after him, presses a kiss to his cheek to assuage himself and, “For luck?”

Finn smiles. Another smart remark is on the tip of Poe’s tongue, but something shifts. Finn squares his shoulders; he and the Kyrja move together to face the dying light. _Oh, what’s this?_ He takes a deep breath, frames his mouth with his hands, and shouts three ascending, inarticulate notes to the passing breeze. The sound echoes through the graves, right down to Poe’s bones. All the hair on his body stands on end. The Kyrja echo Finn’s shout. Still they watch the sun sink lower. Rey and Rose draw their swords, letting them hang side by side, tapping them flat together in a steady rhythm. Something behind them draws Poe’s attention.

The graves are rattling, shaking in the ground. Jannah joins, striking the ground with the end of her spear. As the final touches of day slip away, a great rumbling fills shakes the trees. Then, another sound. Finn, again. Poe tears his gaze away from the graves to Finn. A clear, low sound lights on the wind—Finn’s…singing.

“ _[Of all the comrades that e’er I had, they’re sorry for my going away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Sql9X4H0VY)._” He glances to Poe. “ _And all the sweethearts that e’er I had, they’d wish me one more day stay_.”

Poe’s knees feel weak. There's something heavy in the air. The Kyrjas’ voices rise behind him in harmony, the soil itself seems to rise with them.

“ _Fill to me the Parting glass and drink a health whate’er befalls. Gently cry and softly call, rise to me, and follow all.”_

It’s a spell. He realizes it as it zips through his skin and into the space around him, buoying his heart with nameless awe. The headstones shake an instant more, then Poe sees them. Spirits rise to the call, slipping from their lasting beds to fill ranks before the Huntsman. Others filter from the trees, drawn by spellsong to the clearing, every single one bearing a ghostly weapon.

“S _ince it fell unto my lot, that I should rise and you have not…I gently cry and softly call, rise to me, and follow all…_ ”

They repeat the phrases again, voices climbing to a frenetic volume. Clashing steel and weaving souls draw the last to come. Finn kneels before the dead, shouting the final refrain, cheeks hollowed by looming moonlight as he strikes the ground. Gold light sparks.Spreads from his eyes to his fingers, skittering across the grass. Five enormous skeletal horses appear to them, ripped from the soil, stripped of all flesh but prancing with life. Then--

Sound stops.

No breeze. No clashing of steel or breath of song. Poe’s ears ring in the silence and even he can’t think of a quick quip to what he witnessed. He’s rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend what he sees. Spirits. A sea of spirits. Dead come back to fight. _What kind of magic is this?_ Rose, Rey, and Jannah light easily to a cadaverous warhorse each. When Finn brushes his arm, Poe nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Easy,” Finn soothes. “Take it easy.”

“I don’t think that’s possible at this point,” Poe mutters, willing his limbs not to shake.

Finn squeezes his hand in a reassuring kind of way and some of Poe's nerves start to steady. “Come on, I think there’s a few people you’d like to see before we go.”

The spirits cast a yellow-green glow. Finn’s toothy crown throws sharp shadows down his cheeks. But, the tender hand he lays on Poe’s arm and the cold, familiar gold in his eyes steady him. _There he is_. There's Finn. He's Huntsman _and_ Finn. For first time, Poe realizes there's truly no divide. Like Kane and himself. 

Finn steps forward. Poe finds he can follow. As the dead part, they incline their heads. Those who look most ancient actually bow. Then, several familiar faces sneak into view.

Poe stalls.

Stops.

All the air slips out of him in two whispered words,

“Leia. _Mom_.”

They rush to him, surround him with arms that feel as solid as they had in life. Poe can barely breathe. Over their shoulders, he sees more. Luke stands with Han, older than he remembers them but no less pleased to see him. Other family smile at him, some he knows and some he doesn’t, each clapping him on the back. Leia pulls away first, fondly squeezing his arm as Shara takes a step back, her hands cupping his face.

“Mom?” He can’t get his mouth to work, he can only grasp her forearms. “Mom.”

“Hello, sweetling,” she grins, pulling him down to kiss his forehead. “I missed you.”

Finally, _finally_ his tongue gets with the program. “I missed you, too,” he says, voice thicker than he’d like.

Her hands fall from his face and he turns instinctively to Finn. He finds him watching, the biggest grin cracking his face.

“I did say you'd see her again,” he teases dryly.

“You did…” Poe breathes. He can’t believe it, it’s a dream. Must be a dream.

“Come on.” Finn takes a deep breath, looking at him one second more before he nods with a kind of finality. “Time for the Hunt.”

_Oh._

“We’ll help you,” Leia says. “We’re with you, Poe.”

_Right._

Finn swings up on his horse, draws his sword. Poe follows suit. A strange, cold feeling swells in Poe's skin; magic. His own. Coming to answer the call. His blade lights the night with another kind of eerie shine. Finn turns to face the assembled dead and raises his sword high. He gives one last speechless cry; the spirits answer, multitudes in the night. Branches tremble. The Kyrja scream with him. A fierce fervor stings his blood. Poe raises his voice to the cacophony.

In an instant, they're off.

Time for the Wild Hunt to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told you that imagery might get weird lol
> 
> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023


	9. An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit you're either gonna love it or hate it i think

These horses are so different from BeeBee. They stride across the mountain like Finn, flashing through the forest and leaving it behind in a blur. The dead keep pace. Finn rides ahead to his left, the Kyrja just behind. Jannah's weaving a spell that shimmers ahead in the dark. The forest seems to close, stitching together in a swarm of greenery. Only the path before them lies clear. An opening yawns, a chasm in the mountain's side almost as an ancient wound. Beyond the tree line, the ground seems to be writhing. When they draw closer, Poe finds why.

It's Harrows. Hundreds of them, scrambling over top each other from the crevasse mouth like so many mindless ants. The forest is closed, they've nowhere to go. Their fury screams sharp on the air. A second more then they sense them. The Harrows turn, almost unison to the woods' opening. Poe grips his sword. Hands sweat, heart racing. He knows a single thought, loud and sure.

He'll do what he must.

Finn's horse emerges first. The creatures hesitate—all chaos breaks loose.

Their band surges through a horrible seething tangle of limbs. Poe stays tight to Finn. _Can't get separated, they have a job to do_. They funnel through as a phalanx, waves of the dead crashing on all sides. Sightless Harrows find him. Faces long-dead emerge from squelching flesh, pulled tight in horrendous simulacrums of life. Their bodies split, huge mouths agape and gnashing, teeth too many to number. The first heaves at him. He strikes. Pierces sticky flesh. Starlight bursts in its skin and it shrieks, falling away. It pops, sludge sticks to his hands, burning until he wipes it. _Fuck—_ the sigils. They're ruined. A second comes from behind. Swipes. Misses, just barely. His horse gallops on, immune to grasping claws. A Harrow of a thousand faces snakes through the grass—he reins his ride, dodges left. Jannah pins the thing to the ground as they pass, spear slick with black ooze, air tainted already with the stench of putrefaction. Finn pulls back, waves. Rey and Rose dart forward as their group breaks. They scream, wild, savage. Swords crash together. Fire and wind whirl from the crux of steel, plow into dozens of beasts ahead. Poe shouts, throws a hand up at the heat of it but the fire doesn't blow back. It ripples forward through the creatures, burning and tossing in equal measure. Over his shoulder, spirits swarm whatever is nearest, devouring and drowning whatever is in their path. Poe shudders. They fight like they're still alive, but in such tandem he'd have never believed. All around him, vines and trees take life of their own. Branches hold and split and crush Harrows at Jannah's command. He slashes the air, willing his own magic to burn. At least five creatures start to smolder. Shrieks simmer through the air.

_Shit_ , left—

Another Harrow, flesh alight. It scrabbles at him. He shouts, weaves back but not far enough. Its claws tear through his shirt, score his skin. He swings his blade round, its head slides away with a wet sloshing sound. Poe sucks in a breath, but stench is rising. He chokes, coughs. _Oh, bad—_ he clenches his eyes shut, flashes bloom behind his lids. Holds a hand to his side. Maybe it's not bad.

S _tars_ it hurts.

"On! On!" Finn calls. "We have to get in!"

Poe pulls himself from the pain. He buttons his coat, hoping that'll work to stymie it for now. _On._ They have to get inside the canyon. Poe knows exactly what he's looking for. Stairs. There's stairs. He remembers steps descending in the deep, a vast lake of Harrow sludge. A throne. Unutterable terror, a sinking sensation. Finn pulls his horse alongside Poe, thigh bleeding through his leathers. He lunges, a creature close on Poe’s tail. It freezes solid in its tracks on the point of his sword. Eyes meet—Finn swings left, Poe right. A burst of frost and light surround them, Harrow beasts shatter and split. Icy wind spurs them on. Poe casts frantically around. Where the entrance? Where is it? On instinct, he breaks left, pushing Finn so they ride parallel to the chasm's edge. _There!_ Just a few hundred feet—

"Up ahead! Up ahead, do you see it?"

Finn swings at the nearest Harrow, severing its dead face from its bloated body. He glances where Poe leads him, nodding decisive as he stabs at another.

"I see it!”

Rose and Rey are already following, picking off creatures closest to the canyon's edge. Jannah trails. As they near, Poe realizes; it’s too narrow. He waves back at Finn.

"We'll have to go on foot!"

Finn swings his horse around, skeletal hooves kicking up dust, blocks the Harrows hot on their heels. "Go!" he cries. "Get down there!"

Poe jumps, ribs aching. Rose and Rey skid to a stop, flank Finn. Jannah’s next to him along the narrow edge. The stairs are narrower still; he sprints down as fast as he dares. The smell of fire and wind bloom behind him. Harrows shriek, burning in the Kyrja's shared spell. He glances back. Rey is right behind him, then Rose. Finn slashes two more Harrows that charge, Jannah speaks another spell, raising with glowing hands enormous roots to block the aperture. It's not much, but it'll keep them off their backs for a while. In an instant, she's following them down the stairs again, Finn bringing up the rear. A few steps more. They reach the cavern floor. A narrow pathway extends in three directions.

"Which way?" Rose calls as Jannah asks, "Where do we go?"

Finn slips his way to the lead, spares one grounding grasp to Poe's shoulder before he darts to the left. "Follow me!"

The chasm is impenetrable, dark. No moonlight shines here. Poe holds his sword aloft, dashing just behind Finn, illuminating the way in eerie starlight. As they draw farther into the canyon, the Harrow shrieks and sounds of battle start to die away. Silence, except for the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls impossibly loud. An unfamiliar cold creeps under Poe's skin. This isn't like Finn's chill. That's known, comforting and pleasant. This? _This_ is so much harsher. His breath starts to fog the air. Hell, even Finn's does in this place, which Poe has never seen before. He watches Finn's back as he jogs ahead, limping just slightly. Poe's teeth start to chatter but he keeps pace. _Nearly there, nearly there_ , he can feel it.

The narrow passage opens. Ahead, a round room with no visible ceiling extends before them. A horrible, gagging scent fills the air. Poe’s lungs seize. He coughs, has to cover his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow, clutching his side.

"Ugh, what _is_ that?" Rey sputters.

Poe coughs again, stops dead when the light of his sword at last illuminates the space.

"The lake..." he breathes.

Further on, at the edge of the room. A phantom memory makes his teeth cut their edge, the hideous inky pool of Harrow essence eating up every glimmer of light.

This.

This is.

"I died here..." he croaks.

Well, not him. Kane. But its memory’s simmering so close it _feels_ like his death. Finn stutters in his step, expression rent, as fractured as Poe's feeling. He reaches back.

“Poe—"

Before Poe can find him for comfort, a two-toned voice slithers out of the dark. "Well, what a surprise."

Poe startles. Finn whips back to the lake's edge, the Kyrja fill the space around him, leaving Poe at the center. He hefts his sword a little higher. Just out of reach is the outline of a body, sitting on a throne. It's perfectly pyramidal, and it's floating just above the lake's surface.

"Jannah!" Finn calls. "The Halda!"

Jannah fumbles with her satchel. Rose, Rey, and Finn level their weapons at the creeping chair.

"I see my sister's sent you again," the creature sighs. It's still too far out of sight to make it out but Poe's skin starts to crawl. "What has she given you?"

Poe wraps bloody hands around his sword's hilt, coming to Finn's side and widening his stance. He's terrified, but takes comfort in the hard line of Finn's shoulders. They're here to stand their ground. For better or worse. Neither Finn nor the Kyrja deign to answer the creature's question. Jannah motions to Rey and Rose, drawing them behind Poe and Finn.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Finn murmurs to Poe, "I need you to follow my lead." The throne creeps closer still, the light from Poe's sword slowly illuminating two bare feet. "Call your shield on my mark. Swing together; say the incantation."

He feels a bit light-headed; must be bleeding worse than he thought. But he nods. The cold is penetrating Poe to the bone. Even Finn is shaking. Ice is blooming on the walls around them and the light is inching up the thrown. As it pulls into full view, Poe's jaw goes slack. In this pyramidal chair is what must be the Harrow King. The evil god that cursed the world. And he certainly looks the part. His emaciated body is cloaked in silvery robes, his flesh colorless and translucent. At his waist, his body begins to split. Six spindly arms, so reminiscent of the Harrows he created, lay unworried across his lap, digits disgustingly long. At his throat, his neck diverges. Two unconcerned face filled with red, hellish eyes watch them. A radiating shock jolts in Poe’s stomach. Finn sweeps solid a warrior stance and grits out,

"Rey?"

"Ready," is what she says, even though her voice shakes.

"So brave," the two heads chuckle, three of six hands extend, too many fingers waving almost flippantly to their tiny band. "So _insignificant_."

"The only insignificant thing here is your opinion," Finn taunts. Poe’s shock dissipates. He grins and readies his sword. "You couldn't destroy us before and you won't do it now."

The faces sneer, thin lips pull over too many blunt teeth. "You will be the last word in the history of this world's rebellion." The putrid air above the lake begins to waver. Then the lake itself. "You're no match for the power in me. I put you down once, and this will be your end."

A cold like Poe's never known buffets him from all sides. The surface of the lake trembles, new Harrows scrabbling from its depths. They spill over the side, Finn raises his sword high. He meets Poe's eyes, a single nod—

"Now!"

Together, they swing. Poe's blade is blinding. He calls the spell from the cross-guard, from his heart, speaks it into existence. A roar fills the air. The same shimmering shield he found in the wood lights the walls. All his energy crackles in its surface, the roar screaming now. He holds fast. Finn's blade cracks against his, deafening. Finn shouts the binding spell beside him. Say it, _say it_ , he wrenches his jaw against the freezing cold to form the words. He can't hear himself. The shield before him sparkles with ice. Finn's magic weaves in his, snaking through the Harrows on the quivering lake. Then, a _click_. An inescapable wind sucks against him. Poe's knees buckle. _The shield, can't lose the shield._ He grips his sword, desperate to hang on. The Harrow King. _He's_ what's screaming. The lake, the creatures, the king--they're being pulled through the light, their putrefying essence stripped away. Poe chances a glance. The Halda is open just behind him, crystalline edges shivering with the wind it creates. The Kyrja cling to each other, Finn's kneeling next to him, teeth grit and eyes alight. The wind keeps pulling but the king—he’s stopped. Holding at the edge of the lake.

It's not enough.

_But it has to be_.

Poe grits his teeth. Pulls a final endeavor from some deep well in himself.He staggers to his feet, over the pull of the wind and the roar and the dark. Raises his blade over his head. His side's bleeding freely now, sword pulsing with life. His to lose and his to give. The Harrow King's infinite eyes go wide, flails back for the throne, nameless fear on his faces. Finn's saying something, shouting, reaching for him—Poe can't hear him. This is what he must do. He brings his blade down, absolute. Light arcs over his head, strikes the shield, gives it the last of him.

The Harrow King shrieks once before the shield reaches him. Every piece, every molecule of him starts to dissolve, pulled through the light. The lake, the creatures, everything--sucked into the Halda's end.

In less than a second, it's all gone.

The Halda shuts with a snap, spinning a few times on the stone floor before coming to a rest. The silence that follows is almost as thunderous as the Harrow King's shriek.

But they did it.

They won.

Suddenly, Poe's knees hit the stone again. This time, he feels it. Then the world is tilting, turning. He's falling. Finn's shouting his name. He can't respond. Everything looks so starry in the dark now, only the dying light of his sword illuminates the room. It clatters from his hands. When did those stop working? Everything feels cold, so _so_ cold. He looks from the ceiling to something closer. Oh. It's Finn. His crown is gone. One of Finn's knees is digging into his back, propping him up. Finn's arms are around him, frigid, familiar. His ears finally start working and Finn's saying,

"--idiot, you idiot, what did you do? Poe, what did you do? You stupid goddamn hero, what the _fuck_ did you do?"

Poe frowns, closing his eyes for just a second. "Tha's not very nice."

Damn, words are hard. He tries opening his eyes. Gets one. That's hard, too. Gets the other, only to see tears. He reaches up, makes it most of the way. His hand's shaking, leaves a bloody trail down Finn's cheek as he wipes away frozen tears.

"Don't...do that. 's ok, Finn."

"It's _not_. Poe, I don't know if I can fix this."

He scoffs. Regrets it. That _hurts._ "You can't fix everything." A strange kind of warmth is settling in his limbs. He smiles though, because Finn needs to see him smile. "It's ok," he says again, because it's all he can say.

Finn pushes his curls back, pets his hair with a kind of tenderness that would make Poe's knees weak if he could feel them. "Don't go where I can't follow," Finn chokes. "Not again."

Distantly, he can feel Finn's magic at the wounds on his side. It's the only place left on him that's cold.

"You'd find me," he breathes. "I think you'd always find me."

"I would," Finn sobs, gold eyes squeezing shut in misery. "I know. But I'm selfish. I know death's not the end but I want _so much_." He pulls Poe to him, touches his forehead to Poe's brow. " _Don't go_."

Poe smiles, gentle as he can. “Not…selfish. Jus' human after all."

Poe finds his mouth won't quite work after that so he grips Finn's hand as tight as he can. There's others around him now. The Kyrja, probably. He can't see them. He can hear them, but he doesn't understand. Sense is fading again. All he can see is Finn, and he's fading, too. He takes a deep breath. It feels like the last. The cold is receeding.

_Is it time again for our Parting?_

"Can we try something?" he hears Finn ask. He sounds so far away. "I don't know if this is gonna work, maybe we can make you like us. Poe, can we try?"

Finn's practically begging but he's still giving Poe a choice. Because of course he would. Does Poe want to Part? No. _Hell_ no. He just got Finn back, he's paid his Parting; they deserve so much more time together. So, he nods. Squeezes Finn's hand again.

_Ok_.

"Hang on, Poe. Hang on for me."

Poe clenches his teeth. He can't see, can't speak, but he'll try. It's dark. He has nothing left to cling to now except Finn's voice.

Suddenly, abruptly, the heat floods away and a shock replaces its warmth. He sucks in a breath, a shock pulses again. His whole body shakes, for just an instant, then familiar cold rushes back in. He gasps again. The Kyrja's hands are on him, they're chanting something with Finn. Ancient words he doesn't know, filling him to the brim with _something,_ more than he can stand. A scream rips out his throat, he's rocking. Finn's rocking, pulling and pushing Poe along with him. There's a last rush of frost, brilliant and consuming and rending and--

He blinks.

It's gone.

The first thing he feels is Finn. He's warm. Or, as warm as Poe is now. Then, he sees. Familiar faces lean over him, Finn's foremost. The paint on his face is streaked and ruined, he looks woefully disheveled but so hopeful Poe's heart aches. Rey, Rose, and Jannah are staring, apprehensive. Poe wets his lips. His whole body hurts but a stupid thought strikes him and he can't help a little laugh.

"What'd you do? Did I turn into a frog?"

All as one, his friends breathe a sigh of relief. Finn pulls him to his chest, a hand tight at the back of Poe's neck. Poe finds his arms work again, so he wraps them around Finn in return.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Finn croaks against his hair. "You must really enjoy seeing me panic, big damn hero."

"Hero, huh?" Poe grins. It's tired but gaining ground as a new kind of energy snakes through him. "You're one to talk. Guess we're even, though. I save you, you save me."

Finn finally releases his tight grip but he doesn't let Poe get far. He smiles, laughs wetly, "Tit for tat, right?"

Poe tries to shift and has to stop before he really even starts. Oh, _everything_ hurts, sweet stars. "Yeah," he groans, "let's not do that anymore. I think I'm done with the whole life-or-death pattern thing for a while."

Finn runs a hand through Poe's hair one more time, like he's trying to reassure himself. "If we're lucky," he says, "you won't meet death for a long, long time."

Poe blinks at that. "Am I one of you now? What'd you do?"

Apprehension creeps its way back onto Finn's face. "You are. We each gave you some of us, a little life."

"Finn, the most," Jannah cuts in with a disapproving eye.

Finn glances at her then back at Poe, softly says, "Ours to give."

Like Poe's spell. Damn. It's uncanny. "How d'you always know what's going on in my head?"

Finn gives him a little smile. "Just a feeling."

"And a few magic words," Rey adds.

Rose snorts and Jannah rolls her eyes affectionately, but Finn's looking at him serious now.Better cut that off before he starts a spiral. Poe reaches up and cups Finn's jaw, allowing one swipe across his cheek, a familiar gesture.

"Thank you," he smiles. A feeling of his own comes to mind and he chases it before he loses his nerve. "Come to the village. Stay with me."

It's so strange, it feels like he's said it before. From the look on Finn's face, maybe he has. But it doesn't matter, because that stupefied look changes to one of wonder and Finn's saying,

"Yeah. Ok."

Poe looks up at the Kyrja and grins at them too, because everyone should be smiling right now. "You, too," he offers. "Come to the village. Be part of the family."

The women exchange looks but Poe can already tell he's won. They rise to their feet, Finn too, and all their hands pull him to his. They leave the canyon. Together. At the surface, the Harrows are gone, left behind in so many puddles of putrescence. The spirits have disappeared. Taken themselves to bed again. Except for Leia and Shara, who're hanging on in the first rays of daylight. He can't help smiling again, hugging each before they turn to go.

"I love you," Shara reminds, squeezing him tight.

Poe lets her go, throat tight but heart light. Happy to finally have said goodbye.

Leia kisses his cheek. "Take care, Poe."

They, together, turn to the rising sun. Depart, and raise their hands in farewell. Poe raises one back though they can't see him. He's sad to see them go, but he knows one thing for certain now:

He'll see them again.

In a few whirling steps, they're back at the village. Snap, Karé, and Jess practically tackle him when they return. Then, they notice his company and suddenly there's too much excitement. They have the whole village out to introduce them. It might take some time for them to warm up, but Poe's sure it'll work out fine. Or it might happen quicker than he thinks. The elders fire up the Meeting House. Food and drink and song flow from its windows into the crisp winter air. It's wonderful. It's everything he could've hoped for, his family's almost whole again.

After a while, he begs away. He _did_ almost die. Again. And he's tired. Finn comes with him, of course he does, watching him with careful eyes. In the safety of his cabin, they can finally just _be_. He sinks into the divan in his sitting room, leaning back against the wall as he closes his eyes. Finn sinks with him, a solid steady presence as he's always been.

"What do we do now?" Poe asks, enjoying the feeling of Finn's shoulder against his.

It's the first chance he's had to really consider it. If he's like Finn, he really _won't_ Part for a long time. Someday. But not soon. His family will, his friends—though the Kyrja and Finn will remain. Something about it feels bittersweet but who knows what they future may bring. He can't say he'd change the course.

"We do what we've always done." Finn threads his fingers with Poe's. "We keep our promise and turn the seasons. The Harrows may be gone but we've still got people to care for."

"We do, don't we?"

They sit like that for a while, hand in hand in the quiet. As evening comes, a gentle snow starts to fall. It makes another thought cross his mind.

"Let's keep it," he mutters.

"Keep what?"

"The winter. Without the Harrows and the curse, there's something...peaceful in the cold, don't you think? It's restful. A nice symmetry, you know? Like a promise of better times to come."

"If that's what you think, then we'll keep it. Make sure it's gentle, right? A reminder to cherish what we have, for as long as we have it."

"Sounds like a promise," Poe murmurs. "Think you'll still mean it later?"

Finn brings Poe's hand to his lips to brush a kiss there. It doesn't feel like frost anymore, just familiar. Electric. Maybe they're both in winter now. Poe leans closer, pressing his lips to Finn's like it's the first time again. They're here, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He lays a hand on Finn's heart, pushes him back. Between shared breath and gentle hands, Finn sighs; close to his ear and into his skin,

"The Huntsman always keeps his promise."

**Epilogue**

It's Solstice Night in a village far. A child stands at the edge of the wood. On the air, she hears voices. Laughter and song-- _Gently rise and softly call--_

Shadows of two men dart through the trees, chasing each other beneath the moon. She laughs, holds out her hand. Grandmother scoops her up to take her back inside.

"It's cold, sweetling," Grandmother says, "and it's time for a story."

The girl glances back once. If she squints, she swears she could see the men themselves, dressed in fur and dancing in the snow. Women call and sing. A greenish light strays from the forest far.

Then, it's gone. Her family gather around the fire to hear Grandmother's story again. She tells it every year and it always comes to the same end:

_When dawn comes, we remember the Huntsman won. Winter remains their respite, a rest, and a promise of more to come. At dawn, the Huntsman and his Keeper command the winter leave. Spring will return again. The Kyrja will spin their seasons soon. You may follow him someday, if you can brave the cold. Dance with those Parted from us in winter’s night. Celebrate the Wild Hunt ever after. If you can’t follow, you may still hear their voices clear on the wind, calling to any and all we have lost:_

Fill to me the Parting glass

And drink a health whate’er befalls

And gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

_Thank the Huntsman for his fight, and raise a glass to the woods tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final notes, if you wanna chew on them
> 
> thought a lot about this choice. death not being the end is certainly a good thing to know but what would we all do in finn's position? if we had the power to keep our loved ones with us, who among us would let them go? i certainly couldn't. did i see an opportunity for a very tragic, lovers meet only once a year like hades/persephone at the solstice ending? yes i did. did i take it? no i did not. it'd take a braver soul than me to not give them a mostly happy end
> 
> so what would you do? how would you have ended this? did you love it or hate it? i'd love to hear your thoughts
> 
> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023  
> 
> 
> many sincere thanks to gmariam for her boundless input, to finnpoe-wizard for the prompt, aggripaspoleto for the art, and to natthemess on tumblr for chatting and sharing the prompt
> 
> and, of course, to all of you reading 🖤

**Author's Note:**

> Art of all the Kyrja, Finn, and Poe is linked here, made by agrippaspoleto, who's a goddamn delight!!!! i'm gonna be crying about it forever, go check it out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/worschula/art/The-Kyrija-the-Huntsman-and-his-keeper-848723092?ga_submit_new=10%3A1594749023

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Decoration, Of Sorts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28357047) by [mssrj_335](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335)




End file.
